Our Interest
by dendriticgold
Summary: Sequel to 'Self Interest'. Thomas and Jimmy re-integrate successfully into life at Downton. But repercussions from Jimmy's good-natured attempt to do a favor for his old employer wind up stretching the patience of both staff and owners, and especially Thomas. (Potential Spoilers AU from 3x08). WARNING - M/M slash. Thomas/Jimmy. Thank you Catthetamedshrew for the GORGEOUS cover art!
1. Chapter 1

**(To be read following 'Self Interest')**

**Our Interest – Chapter 1**

Despite the poor state of his body and nerves, Thomas (being Thomas) could not fail to appreciate being received at the main entrance of Downton Abbey by none other than Lord Grantham himself.

Robert's warm welcome and deep apologies were an added, and satisfying, bonus. As was the impotence of Carson's obvious disapproval. The sure-fire feeling of invincibility that comes with the beginning of a promising love affair did the rest.

Thomas found he could endure Robert's initial platitudes well enough and he entered Downton with his head held high.

He made it three steps into the hallway before the biting panic and anxiety of the car ride returned with vigor. Perhaps his confidence may have held up; despite having to leave Jimmy behind to enter through the staff entrance, or despite how dark and uncomfortably cavernous the hall of Downton seemed compared to the pale sunlight outside, even despite the way Carson refused to meet his eyes as he walked past him on the steps. But the brief look of wary curiosity that Gill shot him as he entered, before she hurried out of the hall, duster and cleaning-rags in hand, was all it took to remind Thomas of the delicacy and seeming impossibility of the task that lay before him:

Namely, to return to work causing as little of a stir as possible.

The same notion of simply turning tail to run away from it all that had struck him on leaving the Prison surged again to the forefront of his mind.

'Through here please, Mr Barrow.' Robert's words provided a welcome distraction at the crucial moment, stilling Thomas's panic from spilling over into a full-blown hysteria.

Thomas gave a brief nod before entering the library ahead of Robert, who shut the door behind them.

The corner of Thomas's lips quirked a little at the brief sight of Carson, who had clearly expected to be included in Robert's plans, looking indignant as the door closed in his face. Then Thomas remembered why Robert wanted to talk to him, and the uncomfortable panic returned. The reassuring smile that Robert shot him as he crossed over to the drinks-set on the small table by the window did nothing to calm his nerves.

'Will you take a Scotch, Mr Barrow?' Said Robert, removing the crystal stopper from the decanter with the slightest of clinks.

'Best not, My Lord.' Said Thomas, standing awkwardly by the door. 'I haven't really been eating much and…I don't feel that well to be honest.'

'Yes…' Robert said, momentarily fixating on the inlay of the wooden table rather than look back at Thomas. 'Yes, I can see that.' He eventually said with a sigh as he turned round.

Thomas still wore his coat, having moved past Carson without offering it (fearing the indignity should Carson refuse to take it), but it did little to conceal the dramatic weight loss. The woolen fabric, originally a precision fit, was now a poor match for his frame, as though it belonged to someone else.

However the most damning evidence was to be found in his face. Irregardless of intensive moisturising over the previous three days (despite Jimmy's protests that he ought to 'Let them really see the damage') his skin still appeared papery and thin. His cheekbones were sunken in and the faint remnants of bruising and residual patches of flaky skin combined to make him look like precisely what he was; a man who had just gone through hell.

Robert indicated for Thomas to sit down on the couch, but he refused with a vigorous shake of his head. Thomas preferred to remain on his feet, at least in that way he felt he could maintain some semblance of control over the situation.

'I truly am sorry Mr Barrow…Thomas.' Robert added as an afterthought.

A cool darkness crept over Thomas's busily troubled mind at receiving yet more words of earnest apology.

'Well that's nice to know, isn't it?' He responded without enthusiasm, the words far more sarcastic in his mind than they were on his tongue.

Robert continued undaunted. 'I am sorry for my own words and actions that night, and for how long it took to remedy the situation when the truth came to light. I am sorry Thomas. My handling of the situation was very poor repayment for the years of loyal service you have rendered to this household.'

Thomas couldn't help but give a snort of laughter at the last part, more due to the misplaced praise rather than the sentiment itself. But at the perceived disrespect in his reaction, Robert's demeanor rapidly shifted back to the stern authoritativeness with which Thomas was better acquainted.

'The punishment did not fit the crime, Thomas, but I shouldn't need to remind you that it _was_ a crime. I doubt there are many in my position who have ever had to deal with a situation such as this, but I do know that under the circumstances my actions should be considered more than fair.'

'Yes, My Lord.' Thomas quickly agreed, fidgeting nervously with his hands behind his back.

Robert relaxed with a deep sigh.

'How are you…really?'

Thomas chose to interpret the query as the distinctly less awkward question of 'When will you be back to work?'

He cleared his throat nervously. 'I could use a bit of feeding up and a bit more rest, and I don't know yet if I'm going to get my hand back to normal…' Thomas said, gingerly holding up the afflicted limb. '…but otherwise I'm very keen to get back to work, My Lord.'

Robert eyed Thomas's hand apologetically.

'Take the time you need, Thomas. I'm sure we can make adjustments to your work load if it proves necessary.'

'Well if you can have a one-legged Valet, a one-handed Under Butler shouldn't be too much of a stretch.'

Thomas had intended to speak in jest, something to lighten the mood. But his emotions betrayed him.

His words were weighed down under the load of almost a decade's worth of seething resentment and disappointment and it showed in every dull syllable.

Thomas closed his eyes in defeat, fully expecting another angry reprimand for his impertinence. But it didn't come.

A vague shadow of uncomfortable realisation flitted across Robert's face.

'No, it shouldn't.' He eventually said.

'Thank you, My Lord.' Thomas said quietly to the floor, cowed by his moment of daring.

'I do believe you are an asset to this household, Thomas…' Said Robert gently. '…and I appreciate that my actions towards you in the past may not always have reflected that. But I believe that if we can make the current situation work, both in terms of your continued role as Under Butler and your…relationship…with James, which by his arrival here today I understand you intend to continue, then I believe you will agree that you have been provided with adequate recompense for your pains, both past and present. And we can all put this unpleasant business behind us.'

'I would like that, My Lord.' Said Thomas, managing the weakest of smiles.

'Should I ring for Carson to come and escort you back downstairs?' Said Robert, the untouched Scotch still in his hand.

The thought of all the questioning faces that awaited him made Thomas's innards pitch uncomfortably.

'No thank you, My Lord. I think I will just turn in for today. The journey was very tiring.'

Robert nodded, declining to point out that the day had yet barely begun.

'It is good to have you back with us, Mr Barrow.'

Try as he might, Thomas was unable to vocalize an equivalent sentiment.

He bowed stiffly before retreating out into the hallway, praying he would meet no one on his journey to the attic.


	2. Our Interest - Chapter 2

**Our Interest – Chapter 2**

Even Ivy, not known for being particularly perceptive in matters of human emotion, registered the heavy atmosphere in the servant's hall that lunchtime. Leaving the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and stepping into the servant's hall gave her a feeling akin to falling into an ice bath. Despite the room being at near full capacity (save for a conspicuous gap next to Jimmy, that he now wished he hadn't insisted be kept clear) there was almost complete silence.

During busy times a lack of conversation was a fairly common feature of lunch in the servant's hall. Everyone usually scrambled to feed and water themselves as quickly as possible to allow more time to change their uniforms, fix their hair, or the like, before diving back into the afternoon's tasks.

But today was different.

Instead of being disturbed by the energetic clattering and scraping of cutlery and the slurping of drinks, the silence was almost total. Those seated around the table were handling their cutlery with unusual delicacy, bringing each morsel of food to their mouths with such sloth that every mouthful was taken cold, taking only the tiniest sips of their drinks.

When it had become apparent that Thomas would not be appearing to take the space that Jimmy had kept for him, Carson had taken the opportunity to inform the assembled staff (once again) that the subject of 'Mr Barrow's brief incarceration and subsequent release, based entirely on a misunderstanding' was resolved; and was not then, nor would ever be, an acceptable topic of discussion.

He didn't go quite as far as threatening the livelihoods of the assembled group, but the obliging silence of Mrs Hughes following Carson's announcement was enough to convince the rest of the seriousness with which Carson was treating the issue.

Nevertheless, they all picked slowly at the food on their plates, prolonging the meal despite the increased workload anticipated that afternoon, in the morbid hope that some crumb of additional information might be offered. But Carson's announcement succeeded in keeping both those in the know and those in the dark in a state of silent, burning curiosity.

Ivy had of course missed out on this particular announcement and it was with varying levels of excitement (and in some cases, discomfort) that the staff listened to her innocent query.

'Did Mr Barrow get back alright today?' She said, beginning to collect up the plates that the diners had been desperately clinging on to. She eyed the empty space next to Jimmy with concern.

Jimmy glanced uneasily towards Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes.

Carson was grappling with his indignation at Ivy's question (and the unfortunate truth that, as Mrs Hughes silently admonished him, the question _was _perfectly innocent) as well as the unwelcome necessity of addressing the issue now that it had been vocalized.

Since no instruction was forthcoming, Jimmy turned to Ivy and gave a small nod.

'He did, yes.'

Jimmy immediately became the unchallenged center of the universe to every person in the room.

Mindful of the rapid widening of Carson's eyes, his eyebrows reaching previously uncharted heights, Jimmy declined to offer further details.

'Could you perhaps put together a tray for me to take up to him…he's not quite up to joining us downstairs yet.' Jimmy blushed as he added the last part. His pride compelled him to downplay Thomas's absence, and his own embarrassment at having somewhat overly optimistically saved him a seat. But there was something else; an inner impulse that demanded he be (and be seen) as the confidant, the one to look after him (even if he couldn't _actually_ publicise such feelings outside the confines of his own head). He was none too pleased about having been unable to see Thomas since they had parted ways in front of Downton that morning.

Mr Carson cut in before Ivy had the chance to reply.

'You may make a tray for _Alfred _to take up to Mr Barrow.' He said, with a pointed look at Jimmy.

Jimmy shrank back into his seat, bringing his drink to his lips to hide the upset on his face.

'Yes Mr Carson.' Said Ivy with a small curtsey.

Carson gave a satisfied nod in response, but his face fell when Ivy continued to hover in the hall.

'That will be all, Ivy.' He said sternly.

She turned as though to go, but didn't start walking.

The assembled staff waited with baited breath.

A sense of dread settled in Jimmy's stomach.

'It's just…no-one's told me anything…' Ivy began, looking round at the attentive faces as though they were terribly cruel for keeping her in the dark.

Mr Carson cleared his throat loudly, but however he was intending to diffuse the situation was rendered unnecessary by the sudden appearance of Mrs Patmore.

'Don't waste your breath girl. If they won't tell us they won't tell you.' She said shrilly, shooting a reproachful look particularly in the direction of Mrs Hughes, before shepherding Ivy back to the kitchen.

'Back to work everyone.' Carson called out without missing a beat.

Reluctantly the staff began to rise from the table.

'Alfred, you will wait and collect the tray for Mr Barrow. James, you will accompany me to my office.'

Jimmy's mouth went slack as he returned Carson's gaze with fearful eyes.

'I need to brief you on the developments since your absence.' Carson wearily explained. 'Particularly upcoming events.' His voice became somewhat harder as he added. 'So wipe that ridiculous look off your face.'

'Yes Mr Carson.' Jimmy quickly replied, arranging his features into the very picture of sculpted serenity as he followed him out of the room.


	3. Our Interest - Chapter 3

**Our Interest – Chapter 3**

Upon entering his room Thomas had found his suitcase replaced atop the cupboard, his possessions already unpacked. The thought of Jimmy, in his room, carefully re-distributing his things, made Thomas smile a little in spite of the gloominess of the room around him.

A chill, almost reminiscent of his prison cell, had taken hold of the room in his absence; there had been no fire in the room since the night of his arrest (he flinched involuntarily at the memory of being dragged back into his room that night, compelled to strip out of his livery under Alfred's furious and disgusted supervision, before being frog-marched in his civvy clothes to Lord Grantham…) and the door had clearly been kept closed, barring entry to any warmth from the outside corridor.

It wasn't just the cold that darkened his mood; the room felt lonely. The notion of having a room to himself (for most of his early years, a keen wish) now seemed miserable and bleak.

Thomas sighed and stepped further into the room.

He knew the correct thing to do would be to make a fire, have a quick nap, then dig out his uniform and make himself presentable, before making the long climb down to the servant's hall for lunch.

He knew that was what he _should _do.

_Should just get it over with._

_Should._

_But…_

_Mr Carson…Mrs Hughes…Oh Christ, O'Brien…wonder if she found out…_

Thomas's face contorted into a grimace.

_Alfred might have told her…Oh God, Alfred…and Molesley…and Brett…_

_Otherwise known as the 'We've-seen-you-balls-deep-in-a-bloke Brigade'…_

Despite it's comforting familiarity, Thomas found that dismissive snark failed utterly to lighten his mood.

_What about the girls, has anyone enlightened them?_

The more he considered the issue, the more facial muscles were brought in to contribute to his pained look; crinkling his face up into an expression that would have been comical if anyone had been around to see it…provided the aforementioned person had absolutely no knowledge of the harrowing circumstances behind it.

_Mrs Patmore will probably try to beat it out of me with a spoon if no one's told her._

_Mind you, better than Bates beating it out of me with his walking stick…possibly…Oh God, Bates…_

_No._

_Not happening, not today… Fuck no._

_But….Jimmy, though._

…

_Sorry Jimmy._

Thomas pulled off his outer layers of clothing, draping them over the back of the chair by his desk before falling heavily into bed. He cocooned himself in the blankets, realising too late that cold bed sheets (however tightly one wraps them) couldn't compensate for the lack of a fire.

_Sod it._

Thomas closed his eyes and burrowed his head into the pillow. But sleep, or comfort, was not forthcoming. The bed seemed as unfamiliar to him as those he had encountered at the Prison or at the Inn.

Out of the corner of his eye Thomas caught sight of the mirror on his bureau.

Rising from the bed, he slowly crept across the room. Upon reaching the bureau he allowed himself to look up and meet his reflection's eyes with extreme trepidation.

'Oh my God…' He whispered to no one in particular.

He cast his thoughts back to the damning assessment he had given his ageing features before Christmas the previous year at the news of the Duke's imminent arrival, the way he had wondered, just for a moment, if _anyone_ could still find him appealing in such a poor state.

He let out a snigger.

Because here he was, looking worse than he had ever looked, worse than he could have ever imagined, and somehow _now_ was the time the universe had chosen to gift him with the object of his most ardent desires.

He was quite unable to summon up the enthusiasm to feel lucky at that moment, but the realisation that he actually had the right to do so went some way towards ameliorating the trauma of unfamiliar face looking back at him.

'Mr Barrow…?'

Thomas lacked the energy to reposition himself or call out in response to Alfred's tentative words and knock. He watched in the mirror as the door swung open.

'Oh my God…' Alfred's stunned whisper echoed his own to such a degree that Thomas couldn't suppress another mirthful snort of laughter. He speedily bowed his head when he realised a few tears had decided to escape along with his bitter humor.

Alfred stuttered a little before speaking again. 'Mr Carson asked me to bring a tray up to you…some lunch, since you missed it.' He concluded somewhat redundantly.

Thomas risked another glance in the mirror and saw that Alfred had directed his gaze to the floor. He looked every inch as miserable as Thomas felt.

'Thank you Alfred.' Said Thomas quietly as he turned around, feeling the need to grip the bureau behind him for support. 'But I'm not hungry.'

'What if I leave it here for later?' Said Alfred, still averting his eyes to the floor.

'Am I really _that_ hideous?' Said Thomas sourly, staring down at him.

Alfred flushed red, glancing briefly up at him as he responded. 'Just trying to respect your privacy, Mr Barrow.'

Thomas was suddenly reminded that he was in his underwear, and quite possibly crying…all things considered, Alfred's actions _were_ the appropriate gentlemanly response under the circumstances.

'Thank you for that.' He said softly, feeling decidedly rotten. 'And thank you for the tray, but I don't want it.'

Alfred bowed and turned to leave, but he paused before pulling the door shut behind him.

'You know…Jimmy wanted to bring this up...' He said, brandishing the tray. His words were kindly meant, and did begin to draw a smile from Thomas, but the smile vanished abruptly as Alfred continued. '…But Mr Carson wouldn't let him.'

Thomas hung his head for a moment, screwing his face up in frustration before righting himself with a sigh.

'Bad as all that is it?' He said.

Alfred gave a tiny shrug. 'You can't really blame him…can you?' He responded, with a look that definitely carried a measure of sympathy.

'No. I suppose not.' Said Thomas as Alfred closed the door behind him.

With hitherto untapped reserves of self-motivation, Thomas forced himself to build and light a fire before crawling back into bed.

When Jimmy was finally able to return to the servant's quarters late that night he was unsurprised to find no evidence of light under the door to Thomas's room.

He stared for a moment at the thin wooden door, wishing that was the only thing that stood in the way of him going to Thomas (light or no light), before turning to continue to his own room.

Despite his pent up frustrations Jimmy was able to slip into a pleasant slumber, replaying the dreamlike wonder of the previous few days over in his mind.

Unbeknownst to him, across the corridor Thomas was doing the same as he propped himself up by the window, blowing rings of smoke out into the night.


	4. Our Interest - Chapter 4

**Our Interest – Chapter 4**

There were more than a few raised eyebrows the next morning when Carson once again instructed Alfred to take up food to Thomas, despite such work technically being under the remit of the Second Footman. But he did make sure to remind Jimmy of his demotion straight afterwards…loudly and in front of most of the staff. Jimmy bore the indignity with a blankness that astonished everyone present.

Alfred was none too pleased about the situation; not with regards to being promoted to First Footman (despite his humble nature he _was_ of the opinion that the position should have remained his upon Jimmy's initial arrival at Downton), but about Carson's obvious efforts to keep Jimmy from visiting Thomas.

For more reasons than one, Alfred would have happily passed the trays discretely over to Jimmy when Carson's back was turned.

As he quickly made his way back to the kitchens after trying to tempt Thomas with some lunch, Alfred grappled with the awkward realisation that he was going to have to try to convince Carson to relent for the time being…or at least go and see Thomas himself.

Either that, or perhaps call a doctor.

Mrs Patmore had reacted with such powerful indignation when he returned Thomas's breakfast tray, untouched, that morning that Alfred considered tipping the bowl of soup out the window and taking a few bites off the bread crusts himself before returning the lunch tray, also untouched, to avoid a similar reaction. Although, he reasoned, that it would help his case with Mr Carson if he didn't attempt to conceal Thomas's lack of appetite.

As he entered the kitchen he steeled himself for Mrs Patmore's wrath. But this time she merely eyed the tray with concern, taking it back off him without a word.

Her lack of anger made him feel worse rather than better.

With a heavy heart he left the kitchen to search for Mr Carson.

Thomas stayed precisely where he was (hunched up in bed) when he heard the second knock at his door in only a few minutes.

'Come in.' He said, the sound so muffled by the sheets drawn up around his chin that he doubted the person at the door could hear him.

They entered anyway. The heavy footfalls giving away the identity of the interloper.

'Hello Mr Carson.' Said Thomas wearily, still speaking into his bed sheets.

'Mr Barrow.' Said Carson with a sniff, coming to a stop a very respectable distance from the bed to stand with his hands behind his back, thrusting his chin out in an authoritative manner. 'Your…absence…has been noted from the servant's hall since your return…and Alfred has informed me that you have not been eating the food prepared for you by Mrs Patmore….' Carson's voice was booming as ever, but the awkward pauses in his speech betrayed his discomfort. 'Now, I'm sure you understand that it is imperative that both issues be solved as soon as possible.' He said sternly.

Thomas curled up tighter under the sheets.

He heard Carson give a heavy exhale of breath and take a few steps closer.

'Mr Barrow…Is there anything that can be done?'

The unexpected kindness in his voice drew Thomas's attention like a magnet. He turned over to meet Carson's gaze, keeping the bed sheets tightly clutched up to his chin.

'I don't know.' He replied honestly.

Carson frowned. 'So…this isn't about seeing James then…?' He prompted.

'I'd like to see him. And I could, in the servant's hall, as would be proper…' Said Thomas, his voice gravelly from disuse, releasing his hold on the sheet to wipe the sleep out of his eyes and hold back the errant tendrils of hair falling messily across his face. Carson gave a small nod of approval at Thomas's words. '…It's just…all the other people.' Thomas continued.

'Do you mean, you fear the reactions of other members of staff to your return?' Said Carson, doing his best to conceal his nervousness and distaste at the topic of conversation.

'I suppose so…Yes, Mr Carson.' Said Thomas.

Carson shifted his posture slightly and raised his chin again, clearly trying to maintain the illusion that he was merely discussing a simple work related matter with a colleague. Thomas was grateful for that.

And for Carson declining to reproach him for lying in a disheveled hump on the bed in front of him, as opposed to leaping to his feet as propriety demanded.

'I can inform you, Mr Barrow, that the matter of your…brief absence…and the circumstances surrounding it are a topic not permitted for discussion under this roof. You should not be disturbed by such talk in the servant's hall. If you do hear such talk I ask that you refer the matter immediately to myself.'

Thomas nodded absently. 'Thank you, Mr Carson.'

'Does this mean we can expect your company at dinner this evening?' Said Carson with a rare softening of his harsh features.

'I don't know.' Thomas said, wishing he could reply in the affirmative to reward Carson's grudging (but appreciated) kindness, but almost sure that he would be lying if he did so.

Without too much deliberation over the matter, Thomas once again neglected to attend dinner in the servant's hall that evening.


	5. Our Interest - Chapter 5

**Our Interest – Chapter 5**

Jimmy carried the insultingly small boat of sauce around the dinner table that evening with the utmost dignity, conveying and offering it like some priceless oriental spice rather than a mundane horseradish concoction. All about him was easiness and grace, which was no mean feat considering Dr Clarkson was in attendance at the dinner and kept shooting him looks of reassurance, sympathy and encouragement.

_Clearly His Lordship hasn't had time to fill the good Doctor in on more recent developments…_

The thought made Jimmy shudder a little internally.

But he kept the standard, hint-of-a-smile, charmingly neutral 'Footman's expression' on his face the entire lap around the table. The very model of efficiency and humility in service.

He couldn't help but notice the many small gaffes that constituted Alfred's attempt to rise to the challenge of being First Footman; he was too jerky in his movements, too abrupt when he remove the offered tray, too hasty to move on to the next person, he hunched at the shoulders rather than bending at the waist…the list went on.

Jimmy sighed to himself.

_I'll have a word…later. _

He tried to distract himself by listening in on the dinner table conversation, but much as he respected (and owed) Matthew Crawley he couldn't quite bring himself to find the topic of property law interesting.

From what Jimmy could gather, Matthew had taken it upon himself to commit to assisting an old colleague from Manchester with the modernization of an estate near the city based along the model that he had developed for Downton. The news was drawing various reactions from those present. Predictably, Isobel spoke in support of the idea, Tom beamed with pride at the vote of confidence in the work they were undertaking on the Downton estate, Edith requested further information, while Mary sat quietly with an aloof smile on her face. Equally predictably, Robert was vaguely dismissive, Cora hinted at the potential negative effects of his regular absence on his and Mary's plans to start a family, while Violet stared at him as though he had grown an extra head. Dr Clarkson, wisely, declined to offer a perspective on the matter.

All Jimmy took from the discussion was that Matthew would be spending two days a week away from Downton for the next few months.

_So that's a few nights a week I can avoid getting dragged into card games with Molesley…_

_Good._

Jimmy perked up a little as the conversation turned tentatively to Gregson. Having missed the resolution (or otherwise) to that particular issue due to being laid up after the 'incident' Jimmy listened with interest at the news that Gregson was expected at Downton again in just over a month's time.

_That's interesting. Giving them time to adjust to the idea, are we…?_

He was intensely frustrated when the conversation moved away almost immediately to a far less interesting topic.

'I believe the visit will coincide with the date Dr Clarkson and I have just agreed for the fundraising event for the village hospital.' Announced Robert warmly, but with the clear message that he wished to get off the topic of Gregson as speedily as possible.

'Oh well that is good news.' Said Isobel brightly, smiling enthusiastically at Dr Clarkson, who returned her look somewhat bashfully.

Across the table Matthew's eyes widened. He glanced at Mary, silently questioning if she had noticed the strange atmosphere between them as well, she responded with a sly raise of her eyebrow. Matthew almost choked on his mouthful of food.

From his position by the mantelpiece, Jimmy, who had noted the entire exchange, couldn't help but grin a little more than strictly appropriate.

'It will be such a rare pleasure to welcome the benefactors along with the local people into Downton…' Said Cora warmly.

'I trust we will be keeping the rabble confined to the ground floor?' Violet interjected.

Both Robert and Dr Clarkson looked up sheepishly.

'We have yet to finalise the arrangements.' Said Robert, scratching nervously at the side of his nose. 'I believe Dr Clarkson will be returning tomorrow morning to go over the plans for how much floor-space will be required.'

'Might I be of some assistance?' Isobel piped up instantly.

Dr Clarkson was momentarily distracted by the landslide of disapproval suddenly evident in Violet's facial expression, but he speedily responded. 'I was counting on it, Mrs Crawley!'

A few nervous smiles were exchanged amongst their fellow diners.

Robert raised his glass, looking over in the direction of Carson by the drinks stand. Carson practically ran over to him with the wine bottle, chastising himself for having not noticed His Lordship was running low.

Jimmy's eyes met Alfred's and they both fought the urge to giggle.

Robert took a large swig from the glass as soon as Carson withdrew the neck of the decanter.

Jimmy watched with amusement.

_Poor bloke…I bet you needed that!_

Robert took a few more healthy swallows before turning back to the matter of Dr Clarkson's visit the next day.

'I wonder, Dr Clarkson, if you might have the time to make a quick medical assessment of a member of staff while you are here tomorrow. Mr Carson has informed me that Mr Barrow…'

'Mr Barrow…?' Dr Clarkson cut in with a deep frown.

Jimmy felt his pulse quicken.

_Oh no…_

'Mr Barrow?' Dr Clarkson repeated.

_Mr Carson, be a dear and bring that wine over here to me THIS BLOODY INSTANT!_

Matthew and Robert exchanged a worried look, both mutely asserting that they had each expected the _other_ man to explain the matter of Thomas and Jimmy to Dr Clarkson…both coming to the unwelcome realisation that neither of them _actually _had.

'MR BARROW?' Dr Clarkson's shout made most of the occupants of the table jump.

'We can discuss this later!' Robert quickly responded in a harsh whisper.

'Later be damned!' Said Dr Clarkson indignantly. 'Do you mean to inform me that you have accepted that monster back into this household after…' He looked up, catching Jimmy's horrified gaze.

_PLEASE don't say it…_

'…after what he's done? You would brush something of this nature under the carpet? Putting the welfare of this young man at continuous risk?'

Robert shot Jimmy a look of his own, his eyes filled with sullen irritation.

'There was a misunderstanding.' Robert said grimly.

'Lord Grantham, with all due respect there was no room for misunderstanding…' Clarkson angrily responded.

Jimmy contemplated dropping the sauce boat he was carrying to create a much needed distraction.

'…The evidence was _there_, Lord Grantham. You may not have personally seen it for yourself, but I did, and I assure you it was _there_.'

Jimmy wished he HAD dropped the sauce boat.

_Oh. Holy. Shit._

'For God's sake man!' Matthew broke in firmly. 'There are LADIES present!'

The ensuing silence was by far the most pregnant of pauses ever encountered in the history of Downton.

Jimmy wasn't sure what was worse, the looks of awkward and bemused confusion around the table (and the certain knowledge that Robert was going to have to eventually deal with them on his behalf) or the looks of anger and irritation directed towards himself from those already aware of the situation.

His face felt like a furnace.

_Well I suppose I can take 'have undercarriage discussed over dining table in front of the Dowager Countess' off my list of life aspirations… _

Mercifully, the force of Matthew's interjection seemed to cow Dr Clarkson into letting the matter rest for the present.

Jimmy did his best to fix the neutral 'Footman's expression' back on his face for the remainder of the (largely silent) meal, and escaped as speedily as he could when the ladies progressed into the drawing room.

Although he was _slightly_ apprehensive about the direction the men's conversation was likely to turn to upon their departure.


	6. Our Interest - Chapter 6

**Our Interest – Chapter 6**

As Alfred and Jimmy brought the leftovers into the kitchen, Carson took a moment to instruct the maids to wait a little longer than usual before attempting to get into the dining room.

'And now to the drinks service!' Carson announced, stepping aside in the entrance to the kitchen to usher Alfred after him. 'I think that would be most unwise.' He said abruptly when Jimmy attempted to follow. 'You stay out of sight tonight unless His Lordship _specifically_ requests otherwise!'

'Yes, Mr Carson.' Jimmy responded, beginning to lose the battle to keep his facial features under control.

The others continued on their way leaving Jimmy standing uncomfortably in the kitchen. The heat and steam radiating from the pots on the cooking range was oddly comforting to him in the brief calm that followed; a reassuring sensation on his flaming cheeks, making his overheated discomfort seem somehow less severe. He noticed Mrs Patmore watching him teasingly.

Jimmy swallowed then inhaled sharply through his nose to steel himself to go back and wait in the servant's hall.

'Is anyone going to remember poor Mr Barrow this evening, I wonder?' Said Mrs Patmore.

That stopped Jimmy in his tracks. 'What?'

'Well that's been sitting here since our dinner, waiting to go up.' She said, pointing at the piled sandwiches on the tray by the side counter. 'Though whether it'll do any good, I don't know.' She added at a mumble.

Jimmy chewed on the side of his inner cheek, willing her to explicitly order him to take it up. Reasoning that Carson hadn't expressly forbidden him from doing so…and there was only so much trouble he could get into for following orders. (He sincerely hoped.)

The situation at dinner had him severely rattled. He would have jumped at any potential distraction that would keep him from counting the seconds until Dr Clarkson departed (however temporary a reprieve that may offer, given that it was really Lord Grantham he had to worry about) but the chance to focus his energy on the object that currently occupied his every thought, waking or otherwise, was torturously welcome.

Thomas's continued absence and untouched food trays didn't tally with the cautiously optimistic (not to mention deliciously devilish) turn in Thomas's mood that had convinced Jimmy the time was right to take him back to Downton. And that worried him. A lot.

Besides, he hadn't seen him since…

'Well don't just stand there, take the blessed thing up to him!' Mrs Patmore demanded.

There were all manner of things Jimmy wished to do for, and to, Mrs Patmore at that moment. And if the slightly wary look in her face was anything to go by, at least some of it showed in his jubilant eyes.

'Yes, Mrs Patmore.' He said quickly, snatching up the tray and sweeping out of the kitchen before anyone could tell him otherwise.

After finally emerging into the men's corridor, Jimmy allowed himself a moment to calm down. He had ascended the flights of stairs so rapidly that his heart was pounding in his ears, and he hadn't spared a second look at the tray itself. For all he knew he could have accidently picked up one of the trays of leftovers.

Leaning an elbow against the wall of the corridor, Jimmy glanced down at the tray in his hands.

He smiled ruefully.

In an unsubtle gesture, Mrs Patmore had loaded up enough sandwiches to feed half the staff and accompanied it with a whole week's worth of dried fruits. Jimmy shook his head sadly. After thinking for a moment he quietly crouched down to set the tray on the floor.

Whipping out his handkerchief he tipped one of the pots of dried peaches into it before replacing the bundle in his jacket pocket. He straightened up his uniform as he stood up, running a tidying hand over his face and hair as he walked to Thomas's door, leaving the tray on the floor behind him.

He knocked gently on the door, waiting for a response (that was highly muffled when it came) before pushing it open.

'Thomas, I…' He began.

But a brief moment of suicidal daring compelled him to stride over to Thomas's bedside to put his arms round his shoulders and his lips to his forehead.

Wanting the moment to go on indefinitely, but utterly unable to permit himself more than a few seconds, Jimmy pulled away as quickly as he had descended.

'Jimmy.' Thomas looks groggily up at him with surprise.

'Hello stranger.' Said Jimmy with a grin, before flitting across the room to grab the desk chair (Thomas's clothes still draped over it from the previous morning) and reposition it to sit at the bedside. Thomas began to pull himself up into a sitting position as he did so. After the fuss of achieving comfortable sitting positions was concluded they both sat eyeing each other nervously.

'So I suppose you want to know how I am?' Said Thomas with a wry grin.

'I wasn't going to insult you by asking.' Jimmy responded with a laugh.

Thomas murmured in approval, his head lolling back against the wall behind the headboard, meeting Jimmy's eyes with a look consisting of the kind of naked openness that couldn't help but make the receiver feel unworthy of the force of feeling behind the sentiment.

Clearing his throat to reluctantly break the moment, Jimmy fished the dried peaches out of his pocket and proceeded to nibble on one.

'I nicked these from the dinner service tonight…you want one?' He said in response to Thomas's quizzical frown, extending his hand out towards him.

Thomas leant forwards to take one.

Jimmy tried his best to conceal how intently he was watching the progress the fruit made from Thomas's fingers to his lips, tongue, teeth and (eventually) mouth, as he continued to talk.

'Mmmm…' He said through his own mouthful of dried peach (silently cursing Mrs Patmore for having sent up the one fruit he absolutely detested). 'I hope I didn't put anything back in the wrong place when I unpacked for you…?'

Thomas shrugged apologetically. 'To be honest I haven't really checked…anything…' He said.

Jimmy gave a small nod, trying to make it look like the most natural thing in the world as he rested the bundle of dried peaches at the side of Thomas's leg on the bed sheets. 'But you are going to attack the soap, pomade, cologne and the like before you head downstairs, right?' He said, casting his eyes pointedly over Thomas's very disheveled form.

Thomas looked pained.

'Can't have the rest of them seeing you like this, can we?' Said Jimmy quickly. 'I'm firm in the belief that you are at your best when you're at your most scruffy…' He continued with a grin. '…and I've got enough on my plate without having to worry that someone else is going to try to run off with you!' He laughed, ghosting a quick stroke along Thomas's jaw (after a wary glance out of the open door and into the corridor).

Thomas gave a small laugh in response, twisting slightly out of Jimmy's tickling touch before looking bashfully down at his hands.

Jimmy could have sworn he felt something crack in his chest.

'So…how come I haven't seen you downstairs?' Said Jimmy gently, watching (discretely) with intense pleasure when Thomas picked up another one of the dried peaches.

Thomas wrinkled his lip.

'Thomas…?'

'I don't know, Jimmy.' Thomas said. '…If I did, I'd already be down there. Not hiding up here like some pathetic child.' His voice was soft, but there was potent venom in the words directed towards himself.

'What changed? I thought you were all set. I mean…we knew it was going to be bloody awkward, but you seemed up for the challenge.' Jimmy said tentatively.

'I know, it's just…' Thomas paused, raising his hand to smooth out the frown lines on his forehead with his knuckles. 'There's so many people down there. And nearly all of them hate me.' He said, his voice dropping to barely a whisper.

'I thought we'd been over this!' Said Jimmy, forcing merriment into his eyes to conceal his own feelings about his part in the situation. 'They don't hate you. They might think you a little weak for allowing yourself to be corrupted, but then how could _anyone_ resist this?' He said, indicating his torso with an exaggerated flourish of his hand. 'Although I can't speak for those that you've fallen out with in the past…but if you could deal with them then, why not now?'

Thomas couldn't resist a little smirk.

'I know.' He said. 'And I feel like such an idiot for still being up here…But I just can't face them right now.'

'Is that why you're not eating?' Jimmy said quietly, and with extreme caution. 'Is this your way of punishing yourself…for being a coward?' He added reluctantly. 'You might not have been plowing your way through steak at the Inn, but I know you were getting back into something resembling normal eating patterns while we were there.'

Thomas lowered his head in what could only be read as a gesture of shame.

'Right…I thought as much.' Said Jimmy. 'We'll think of something.' He briefly patted Thomas's shoulder (after another glance through the open door) and offered him a reassuring smile. 'I don't suppose you'll be wanting the mountain of sandwiches that Mrs Patmore has made for you tonight?'

Thomas gave a bitter laugh. 'No…not really.'

'Well I'll leave these here for you just to make sure you don't completely keel over.' Said Jimmy, shifting the handkerchief wrapped dried peaches onto Thomas's bedside table. He had to lean over him in the process, briefly experiencing the feverish insanity that comes with proximity to barely concealed flesh, before returning to his seat.

'Thank you.' Said Thomas.

Jimmy nodded in acknowledgement and reluctantly stood up to leave.

'Is there anything else I can do for you?' He said.

'Just…tell me how you're doing?' Said Thomas, looking earnestly up at him. 'How are they treating _you_ in all this?'

'Fine.' Said Jimmy a little too quickly. He forced himself to slow down as he continued. 'Obviously things have been…a little awkward…but nothing to give cause for alarm. Everyone is handling the situation with good grace.' He concluded with yet another beaming smile. 'I am looking forward to having you back downstairs.' He said, glad to be able to voice at least one truth, resisting the urge to spoil the heartfelt sentiment with a saucy wink (but in no doubt at all that Thomas's mind had also 'gone there').

'I'll try.' Said Thomas quietly.

Jimmy held his pained gaze for a moment.

He bowed smoothly and exited the room, pulling the door shut quietly behind himself before hunching forward with his head in his hands.

He knew he wasn't going to actually cry, but his body insisted on going through some of the wracking shoulder-hunching, gut-clenching movements nonetheless.

He righted himself abruptly at a small sound from his left.

The humiliation of the day was quite complete when he turned and saw Mr Carson standing a short way away, the dinner tray in his hands.

Before Jimmy's brain had the chance to do anything other than instruct his mouth to fall open Carson turned away, silently indicating for Jimmy to follow him down the corridor with a jerk of his head.


	7. Our Interest - Chapter 7

**Our Interest – Chapter 7**

Carson led Jimmy silently down the stairs.

Jimmy stepped more carefully than usual between the steps. He felt the familiar numbness that signaled an imminent dressing down and didn't fully trust his footing. He did appreciate Carson having decided on relocating (away from Thomas's room) before letting him have it, but he couldn't stand the continued silence of the deferred punishment.

As they rounded the second flight of stairs, Jimmy decided that he would rather just get it started. Whatever 'it' was going to be.

'Did Lord Grantham manage to straighten things out with Dr Clarkson, Mr Carson?' He said to Carson's retreating back, before bracing himself for the anticipated order to hold his tongue, followed by a listing of his sins, culminating in threats and cautions regarding his future conduct. The potential for any threats to actually be actionable under the circumstances made Jimmy all the more desperate to prompt Carson into delivering them as soon as possible. It may have only been a minute or so since they left the men's corridor, but that is a lifetime to a scared man.

Jimmy was left intensely confused when Carson merely paused briefly on the stairs to inform him that Lord Grantham hadn't seen fit to inform him of the progress of their discussion before continuing onwards. The only hint of anger and hurt in Carson's face seemed to be directed towards Robert for not having seen fit to confine in him.

'Mr Carson…' Jimmy tentatively began. 'Mrs Patmore asked me to take the tray up, I wasn't disobeying any…'

Carson turned round again and silenced him with a dismissive wave of his hand before returning it to join the other gripping the tray. The sentiment seemed to be one of unimportance rather than reproach.

Bewildered, but not allowing himself to feel relieved quite yet, Jimmy continued to follow Carson downstairs in silence.

'I suspected as much.' Said Mrs Patmore dully when Carson entered the kitchen with the tray still piled high with sandwiches.

'So did I.' Carson agreed solemnly. 'But thank you for remembering to make this…and for sending James up with it.' He added as Jimmy entered the kitchen behind him. There was a hint of annoyance in his voice, but it soon passed.

'The question is…' Said Carson heavily. 'What is to be done?'

'They should just call the Doctor and be done with it.' Mrs Patmore asserted, equal parts concern for Thomas and equal parts incredulity that anyone could repeatedly refuse food that she herself had prepared…unless they were in some way VERY ill.

'Do you have an opinion James?' Said Carson gruffly, turning to him.

Jimmy stared back in surprised confusion, though nowhere near as confused as Mrs Patmore at this strange turn of events.

'Well?' Carson demanded.

'Um…' Jimmy shook his head vigorously to force his thoughts to fall into place. 'I don't think it's because he's sick. I offered him some of those on their own and he was fine to take them…' Jimmy said, indicating the empty bowl that had contained the dried fruit. 'I don't think there's anything the Doctor could do anyway…' He shot an awkward look towards Carson, bearing in mind that Mrs Patmore was unaware of the impediments to her suggestion.

Carson nodded slowly. Mrs Patmore continued to look confused.

It was at that moment that Daisy and Ivy returned to the kitchen from collecting up the residual food and crockery in the servant's hall, with Alfred following inevitably behind like a lured Peregrine.

Alfred paused for a moment when he saw Mrs Patmore was present, but upon catching sight of Jimmy already in the kitchen he reasoned it was alright to enter.

'Has Mr Barrow informed you of the nature of the problem?' Carson prompted. Jimmy wasn't quite sure whether to take the look in his eyes as confirmation that he had in fact been listening to his conversation with Thomas (and Jimmy was most definitely NOT ready to contemplate how much he may have heard if he did) or whether the look was one of guarded curiosity.

'Well he…' Jimmy glanced towards the others who were standing in a gaggle at the far end of the table. Daisy and Ivy speaking excitedly to one another while Ivy retrieved a tray of shortbreads from the oven to lay them out to cool. Alfred hovered next to them at the table, doing his utmost to subtly worm his way into the conversation (and failing miserably at subtlety, if not the actual conversation).

Mrs Patmore followed his gaze then turned back to Jimmy with a small laugh. 'They are quite occupied, wouldn't you say?' She said, clearly eager for further clues to allow her to puzzle out Carson's odd deference to Jimmy's opinion about Thomas.

'Go on, James.' Said Carson gently.

Jimmy consented to continue in a low whisper. 'He wants to come down, but I think he's scared. And he feels like an idiot for eating upstairs when he should be down here.'

'And why should he be scared?' Said Carson. Jimmy was just about to fix Carson with the ultimate in patronising glares when he qualified the point by saying. 'When I have forbidden discussion or reference of any kind in relation to the incident?'

'He knows that. He does.' Jimmy whispered. 'But he's just not ready to face everyone. Not yet. And you _know_ walking into the servant's hall when there's gossip afoot, even at the best of times, can be like stepping into a wolves' den.'

Jimmy didn't notice the way Mrs Patmore's expression had started to soften as she listened to his concerned words, or the slight slither of triumph creeping into her eyes. He was too preoccupied with wracking his brains for a suggestion for Mr Carson when he asked the inevitable follow on question…

'What would you suggest we do, James?'

'We just…' Jimmy floundered for an answer. '…we need a middle ground between his bedroom and the servant's hall. A more neutral place to help get him over that first hurdle. Somewhere he could…' Jimmy glanced up, at a complete loss, just in time to see Alfred taking a bite out of a shortbread biscuit stolen from the baking tray. He stared, transfixed.

Mrs Patmore followed his gaze again. 'Oi!' She shouted out. 'Am I going to have to start nailing things down when I admit you to my kitchen?'

Alfred was intensely embarrassed to suddenly be the focus of every person in the room. He brushed the errant crumbs from his lower lip and began to stutter out an apology to Mrs Patmore, but Jimmy speedily intervened.

'I think I've got it!' He said excitedly.

Everyone's attention immediately turned to him.

'Mr Carson, can we…?'

'Of course.' Carson said quickly, indicating for Jimmy to lead the way to his office.

Mrs Patmore's face began to fall but rapidly perked up again when Jimmy added. 'I need you as well, Mrs Patmore.'

Alfred, Daisy and Ivy watched them go with looks of intense confusion and curiosity.

Jimmy began to speak the second Carson's office door closed behind them.

'Mrs Patmore, would you have Mr Barrow in the kitchen?'

'You, what? He's an _Under-Butler_!' She responded, as though Jimmy had suggested the King of England ought to shine her pots. Mr Carson's confused frown carried a similar sentiment.

'No, no. I don't mean to work, just to…sit.'

Jimmy's words met blank looks from both Mr Carson and Mrs Patmore.

'Mr Carson, you could insist he spend some time tomorrow morning in the kitchens. Make some noise about how His Lordship doesn't want him left alone all day, but that you don't have anyone spare to sit with him in his bedroom. There's hardly anyone goes in the kitchen in the mid mornings. And Mrs Patmore, you could keep Daisy and Ivy from asking any awkward questions, couldn't you?' Mrs Patmore nodded slowly, still staring at Jimmy in bewilderment. 'And…' Jimmy gave a wry grin. '…if trays of shortbreads or the like just so happened to be lying around…?'

Mrs Patmore's face broke into a broad smile. 'Well aren't you a sly one!?'

Mr Carson blinked in surprise as he mentally scanned Jimmy's suggestions for evidence of potential pit-falls (or self-serving motivations). Finding them clean of such features he eventually spoke out, a little unnerved by the enthusiasm and earnestness in the faces of Mrs Patmore and Jimmy as they looked towards him. 'Well if Mrs Patmore has no objections…'

'None whatsoever.' She said. 'Should make for a highly interesting morning.'

Jimmy was suddenly roused into concern. 'No, you're not to make fun of him or anything…'

'Oh relax!' Said Mrs Patmore tenderly. 'I'm only teasing. I'll take good care of him.'

'Thank you, Mrs Patmore.' Said Jimmy, visibly relaxing for the first time that day.

'That will be all, thank you James.'

Jimmy bowed quickly to the two of them before heading out of the office, an unfamiliar feeling of warmth in his breast as he made his way back to the servant's hall.

Back in Carson's office, Mrs Patmore watched him leave with a satisfied look in her eyes. 'Oh I knew it…' She said, more to herself than to Mr Carson.

Carson halted abruptly on the way round his desk to return to his chair.

'What, precisely, do you think you 'know' Mrs Patmore?' He said sternly.

She responded with a silvery laugh. 'Oh don't give me that.' She said with another grin. 'I may not have the most reliable eyes, but there's no mistaking what's going on between those two.'

Carson sat down in his desk chair, doing his best to appear unflustered and uncomprehending. 'Which 'two' are you referring to?' He said levelly.

Mrs Patmore shot him a reproachful, but mirthful look as she left the office.

She laughed all the way back to the kitchen.


	8. Our Interest - Chapter 8

**Our Interest – Chapter 8**

When Mrs Hughes walked past the kitchen in the quiet lull of mid-morning the next day, she was beyond shocked to notice Thomas perched on a chair by the kitchen table, flipping leisurely through a newspaper, sipping a cup of tea with a broad smile on his face. He wore a blue suit (as opposed to his uniform) and had his hair slicked back (rather than the usual precision side parting) and looked several sizes too small for the Thomas she remembered, but it was the _smile_ (or rather, the type of smile) that made him look quite so unlike himself.

Her presence went unnoticed by Thomas but her eyes did briefly meet those of Mrs Patmore, who shot her a highly smug look before turning back to the task at hand without going over to offer anything by way of explanation for the strange turn of events. Mrs Hughes found herself resenting having followed Carson's orders for discretion to the degree of refusing to disclose any information regarding Thomas to Mrs Patmore; it was clear Mrs Patmore intended to return the favor. With a disapproving look, that was received only by Mrs Patmore's back, she continued on her way.

Despite his earlier hesitation, Thomas was having something of a glorious morning as he sat amidst the hubbub of the kitchen, occasionally stealing morsels from the surrounding trays and plates…which just so happened to fall within his reach.

It had taken him barely half an hour to suss out the situation.

He had entered the kitchen that morning with extreme reluctance and trepidation, uncomfortable in the knowledge that he would not have even made it down the stairs were it not for Mr Carson's accompaniment. It was an intense relief to find Mrs Patmore and the others bustling about to such a degree that they barely acknowledged his presence.

Pulling a newspaper off the sideboard, he had settled down by the kitchen table. Anxious and jumpy, he found himself continuously eyeing everything _but _the newspaper. His eyes alternately followed the progress of Daisy and Ivy as they wove around one another (and the Hall Boys) fulfilling the seemingly endless barrage of instructions from Mrs Patmore. He did catch them all looking his way, repeatedly, but as they did nothing else Thomas found he could bear it. He just pretended to read the paper.

The smells of the kitchen both churned and enticed his neglected stomach. In particular, the peeled orange slices in a bowl a short way away from him invaded his nostrils with the irresistible nostalgia of heady citrus scents. He found himself sneaking one even without thinking about it.

This turned out to be something of a mistake. The harsh acidic taste didn't play well on his dry mouth. He found himself grasping for a handful of digestives on a tray directly across from him to dull the sting. As he munched into them his heart gave a panicked leap when he realised Mrs Patmore had noticed.

She merely turned her eyes heavenwards in a gesture of disapproval (that lacked any real bite) and instructed Daisy. 'See if Mr Barrow wants some tea.'

Thomas's panic surfaced again at Daisy's approach, but he relaxed somewhat when it became apparent that she had no intention of continuing the conversation beyond simply asking him if he did indeed want tea.

The appearance of a mysterious plate of brownies, placed next to his left arm seemingly absently by Mrs Patmore, also helped to calm his nerves. He noticed that Mrs Patmore's eyes were on him as he stole one, as he simultaneously came to the realisation that there was absolutely no reason whatsoever for brownies to have been baked in the kitchen at that particular time.

He shot a questioning look towards Mrs Patmore. She returned it with a brief wink before continuing on her way.

Then he got it.

He chuckled.

And smiled.

And scared the hell out of Daisy.

She looked upon him as a terrifying interloper as she returned with his teacup, rather than someone of a near ten-year acquaintance.

As she quickly rattled the teacup down onto the table, Thomas made a mental note to ration out looks of genuine glee in the future.

He suddenly realised that he had managed to unconsciously retrieve the brownie with his bad hand. He stared down at the fingers in astonishment. That morning he had managed to get the half-glove back on for the first time (orders or no orders, he would not be seen without it) after soaking his hand in a bowl of water warmed by the fire and pushing and pulling his fingers into place with his good hand, but had been too sure of failure to attempt to manipulate the joints at all beyond that.

But here he was; with an item held aloft in his grip. A very light item, but an item nonetheless. One side of his hand, especially the point where his thumb met his palm, began to twinge in protest almost immediately. But he was pleased enough to be able to disregard the pain for the present.

He took a sip of tea, then a bite out of the brownie, before deciding his world was temporarily wonderful. He decided the people scurrying around him, compelled to awkwardly ignore him, could use a little relaxation as well.

'Have you changed the recipe ladies?' He said. 'These don't taste like the ones I remember.'

'Oh that's Alfred's doing!' Daisy piped up immediately, before shrinking back in shock when she realised that she had just broken Mrs Patmore's strict instructions to treat Thomas like a ghost (and to not tell anyone that Alfred had managed to genuinely improve upon her personal recipe for brownies).

'How's that?' Said Thomas, doing his best to speak normally, easily, unthreateningly.

Daisy glanced uneasily at Mrs Patmore over by the sink.

'Well you might as well answer Mr Barrow's question now you've let the cat out of the bag, you silly mare!' Said Mrs Patmore, with so much amusement in her voice that Daisy wound up feeling more, rather than less, nervous.

'Well…they…' She stuttered. 'They used to make them different at his old place. Alfred suggested the change after the last hunt.'

Thomas murmured in approval as he started on a second one.

'You'd best watch out you two.' He said. He waved the teacup in his hand in the general direction of Daisy and Ivy. 'Alfred'll be after your jobs next.'

'He wouldn't look nearly as good in an apron!' Ivy jested, with an exaggeratedly prideful twist of her head, clearly not nearly as cowed by Thomas's presence (or fear of Mrs Patmore) as Daisy.

Even Daisy couldn't resist a giggle at the image and the four of them briefly laughed together before Mrs Patmore loudly reminded the girls that they had work to do and instructed them to 'Leave poor Mr Barrow to his paper!'

Thomas gave a small nod of thanks to all of them, although suspecting they weren't quite sure of precisely what he was thanking them for, and turned back to pretending to read the paper with a smile on his face.

When the time came for lunch he was sorry to leave them. And while his excuse for missing lunch ('I've eaten my weight in food already this morning') was technically true, he couldn't deny that the notion of returning to the servant's hall still seemed a daunting prospect.

But he did intend to return for dinner.

A quiet knock on his bedroom door that evening made him look up from the components of the Under Butler's uniform he had laid out on his bed.

'How was this morning?' Said Jimmy tentatively as he entered.

Thomas responded with a raised eyebrow and a teasing smirk.

'Don't give me that look!...I had nothing to do with it!' Said Jimmy, widening his eyes in mock innocence as he stepped into the room, secretly marveling at the reappearance of humor in Thomas's demeanor.

'No!' Thomas said abruptly as Jimmy began to close the door behind him. 'Don't do that.'

'Right, of course!' Jimmy said quickly, viciously reproaching himself for having killed the merry mood quite so quickly. He immediately pushed the door back open. 'Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it…'

'I know.' Said Thomas with a grimace. 'But there it is…' He shrugged.

Jimmy released his hold on the door and began to walk towards him again.

'All the way, if you wouldn't mind.' Thomas continued.

Jimmy stepped back briefly to give the wood of the door another push.

'Alright?' He said, this time remaining in his position by the doorway.

Thomas nodded apologetically. 'That's fine.' He said, turning his attention back to his clothes.

'So…' Jimmy rocked a little back and forth on his feet. 'Mrs Patmore informs me that you are definitely, without a doubt, no question, going to be taking dinner in the servant's hall tonight.'

Thomas looked up in confusion.

Jimmy clicked his tongue against his teeth. 'Yes…I had a feeling she hadn't actually told _you _that. So I thought I ought to come up and let you know!' He said with a wry grin.

Thomas continued to look lost, and more than a little wary.

'The thing is…' Jimmy continued. 'She's made stew…this big, chunky, thing…with lots of red wine in the gravy. Apparently she remembers it as one of your favorites, and I dare say a few other people's as well. Carson's on the war path about it being an expensive and wasteful dish, so…'

'…If I don't go downstairs to have it, she'll serve me up for tomorrows breakfast.' Said Thomas, fighting the urge to laugh.

When he glanced up to see the barely contained mirth in Jimmy's puffed out cheeks Thomas gave up the struggle and they both indulged in a spate of juvenile laughter.

Jimmy couldn't help but notice with a pang the way Thomas's face instantly fell when he looked back down at the uniform he had laid out. It silenced his own lingering laughter immediately.

'Do you think you will?' Jimmy said gently.

'I don't know…' Thomas said with a small shake of his head. 'There's just so many…people.'

'Well, you're working your way through the list.' Said Jimmy, attempting to speak cheerfully. 'You've seen me, Carson, Alfred, Mrs Patmore, Daisy, Ivy…'

'Yes, but not…'

'Well here' s your options…' Said Jimmy brightly, cutting off Thomas's sullen reply. 'Either you come downstairs and face them all at once, or I will personally bring each and every one of them to your room for a private audience.' He winked wickedly. 'What do you think? Would missing dinner tonight be worth being trapped in here with the likes of O'Brien…or Bates? Not to mention your imminent skinning at the hands of Mrs Patmore if she's defied Carson in vain on your account…'

'Oh bloody hell, alright! I'll sodding try!' Thomas said with a smile, his eyes brightening up again at Jimmy's comical expression.

'Very good, Mr Barrow!' Said Jimmy with a highly over-emphasised bow. 'I look forward to seeing your splendid arse at dinner!'

Thomas glanced over Jimmy's shoulder. 'Hello, Mr Bates.' He said sheepishly.

Jimmy gave him a reproachful look. 'Oh very fu…ck!'

He was intensely perturbed to find Bates, as promised, standing directly behind him out in the corridor with one of Lord Grantham's reserve winter coats folded over his arm.

'Sorry, Mr Bates!' Jimmy said quickly, not sure if he was apologising for his earlier jest or his accidental obscenity upon seeing him.

Mr Bates's expression was completely neutral as Jimmy's eyes met his; although a man less panicked than Jimmy at the time would probably have spotted the merriment in his eyes.

'That is a rather informal way to address an Under-Butler, wouldn't you say?' He said to Jimmy, shooting Thomas a wry smile over Jimmy's shoulder, before continuing on his way.

Jimmy turned back to Thomas; mouth open, utterly speechless.

'Well, that's another person off the list…' Said Thomas eventually.

Jimmy managed to gather himself enough to reply. 'Which bloody list?'

'Both…I'd say.' Thomas snorted. 'Perhaps we should just go at it on the table in the servant's hall and get _that_ over with in one go as well.'

'Well…' Jimmy stuttered, still a little thrown. 'If that's what it takes to get you down to dinner…!'

'Oh be off with you!' Thomas laughed, crossing the room to push Jimmy out of the room. 'I'll see you at dinner.' He called after him, closing the door and striding back purposefully towards the uniform laid out on the bed.


	9. Our Interest - Chapter 9

**Our Interest – Chapter 9**

'…and the way the weather is going, they say there will be more snow before the month is out.'

Mrs Hughes's commentary on the weather was met with the same weighty silence from the assembled diners as Carson's earlier attempt to strike up a discussion about the train schedule changes since the New Year. It was hardly unusual for the staff to find those particular subjects unworthy of in-depth discussion but, that particular evening, the continued silence in the servant's hall had everyone decidedly on edge.

For some of them, maintaining the stony and uncomfortable silence was a form of protest at the lack of information given regarding the circumstances surrounding the re-appearance of a certain black-haired, deathly-pale gentleman sitting at the far end of the table by Mrs Hughes.

Although it was something of a relief to everyone concerned when Anna piped up in response to Mrs Hughes heroic attempt to start a conversation.

'Mr Bates found some of His Lordship's old tennis racquets in the attic the other day. Perhaps we ought to bring them down to make snow-shoes for those that have to fetch things from outside?' Said Anna in friendly jest.

Mrs Hughes gave a laugh (that she hoped didn't sound too relieved). 'Well I dare say yourself and Mr Bates are the ones who will need them most if it snows heavily. It might make the walk to the cottage a little more difficult than usual!' She said with a warm smile.

Anna paused for a moment, always a little abashed when the special favor that had been afforded to herself and Mr Bates was pointed out, even though it was clear Mrs Hughes meant no harm by her remark.

'Whatever the weather…' Mr Bates speedily jumped in, sensing the reason for her hesitation. '…the view of Downton Abbey as we approach is always a fine one.'

'And it's good to get some exercise!' Said Anna brightly.

'I should say the benefits of having the cottage more than outweigh the inconvenience.' Gill chimed in from across the table.

Anna blinked in astonishment at Gill, who immediately turned beetroot red at realising the unintended subtext of her words…that almost everyone else at the table had instantly picked up on.

Reflexively, Carson felt compelled to end the conversation, prompting another awkward hush to descend over the dining table.

Jimmy was barely taking any notice of either the silence or the conversation. He was watching Thomas intently for signs of discomfort. He read a certain blankness to his features and demeanor, Thomas seeming content to 'exist' within his current surroundings but not willing to go so far as to actively engage with them.

_Well…that's a start. _

He continued to watch Thomas.

Careful to not look too hard or for too long.

But when he noticed with a start that Thomas was using cutlery in his left hand (albeit inelegantly, using his thumb to trap the implement at an angle against his index finger) the need for discretion fled his mind. He didn't go so far as to smile openly, but his eyes lingered happily on the sight.

Unbeknownst to Jimmy, his assessment of Thomas's feelings at that time was quite correct. Thomas was more than aware that the atmosphere at the table was entirely his doing but was of the opinion that, provided people's actions went no further than curious and wary sideways glances, he could stand it well enough. During the brief exchange between Mrs Hughes and Anna he found (slightly to his own surprise) that for the first time in his life he was content to simply observe the conversation, rather than trying to conjure up an angle from which to enter it (or, as was more common with his 'choice' interjections, to end it).

Then there were the colours. Comforting and beautiful colours.

The uninspiring pale colours of his room in the attic had provided insufficient contrast to the monotonous dirty grey of the prison, and his brief look at the multi-coloured madness of the streets of Ripon had been far too overwhelming to handle at the time.

But here things were slower, gentler, and more intimate. Time to appreciate the brown wood of the table, the spotlessly clean tan colour of the floor, the shining yellowy brass of the bells; even the pink of Daisy's blouse when she briefly appeared to start serving. He had no idea that a place designed with the minimum of fuss, and that he'd never given a second thought to, could contain so many points of interest. And he was quite content to sit there, despite the multitude of eyes boring into the side of his head from staff members who were variously friendly, neutral or hostile to the interests of himself and Jimmy.

There weren't many around the table that could be meaningfully placed into the 'hostile' category; but unfortunately for Jimmy, one such person had been monitoring his actions (in particular the focus of his eyes) with interest almost since the beginning of the meal.

Miss O'Brien's voice cut through the silence of the room. 'Is something the matter James? You look quite away with the fairies!'

Jimmy jumped a little. He lost his grip on his spoon as he attempted to return it to the bowl in front of him and ended up spraying the table with the rich red wine gravy.

Carson instantly sat upright and alert, but quickly realised that O'Brien had not explicitly violated his orders; Thomas was off limits, Jimmy was not. And consequently held his tongue for the moment to see how the situation would develop.

As it was, the spill itself pulled focus from what Jimmy had actually been doing (at least from the perspective of the rest of the table) and in the ensuing scramble to get a cloth to mop up the mess, everyone was distracted long enough to forget that Jimmy hadn't actually answered the question.

When things had settled back down Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson exchanged relieved glances, completely missing the dark and deathly hostile look that Thomas shot O'Brien across the table.

Jimmy missed it as well. He didn't risk another glance up for the rest of the meal.

And when Thomas excused himself the second that the dinner was concluded, Jimmy was quite unable to follow him up the stairs. No matter how much he wanted to.


	10. Our Interest - Chapter 10

**Our Interest – Chapter 10**

Despite feeling slightly dazed, desperate for bed, not to mention noticing the chill circulating the men's corridor, Thomas kept his bedroom door open. He sat close by, fidgeting inconsequentially with various items on his desk, and he waited.

It was coming up to midnight by the time a familiar face popped into view, peering quizzically round the door frame.

Thomas was on his feet and over by Jimmy's side in the doorway in a flash.

'Hello.' He greeted Jimmy, his features twitching anxiously.

'Have you been waiting all this time?' Jimmy said with a slightly incredulous frown. 'I'm sorry, the drinks service ran late and the clean-up…'

Thomas cut him off by lightly brushing the backs of his fingers against Jimmy's hands, withdrawing immediately when he realised what he was doing.

'The time doesn't matter. Couldn't turn in without the chance to talk to you, could I?' Said Thomas with a warm but slightly faltering smile. 'How are you?' He continued, risking another brief touch of their fingers.

'I should be asking you that!' Said Jimmy. 'You seemed to manage with the wolves quite well.'

Thomas grinned. 'Did you expect anything less?'

Jimmy returned the grin.

They both found themselves unable to break the resulting eye contact.

_Seriously, how are you Jimmy?_

_ I'm fine, Thomas. Especially right now…_

_You know we can't…_

_ I know. But…there's no one here. Just…_

Jimmy leaned in a tiny fraction of an inch closer to Thomas. He paused, lingering there, knowing it was a ridiculously stupid gesture, genuinely not sure if he was hoping for refusal or acceptance; but quite unable to pass over the moment without testing the waters…just in case Thomas's mood tended as far towards reckless lust as his own.

It didn't.

Thomas didn't move away from him, but shook his head firmly.

Jimmy tried not to look too crestfallen.

The barriers between them had all but disintegrated since Christmas and Jimmy was as sure of Thomas's continued affections as he could possibly be. He knew _exactly _why Thomas was rejecting him at the present moment, and knew it had _nothing _to do with a lapse in his desirability and everything to do with the restrictions placed on them by the house.

But the rejection stung all the same.

'It's not just about who sees, is it?' Said Thomas at a whisper. 'It wouldn't be right to disrespect His Lordship's wishes, not after everything he's done…and everything he's been willing to forget.'

'I understand.' Jimmy whispered with a small smile, flicking his eyes upwards to briefly meet Thomas's concerned and apologetic expression. 'I understand.' Jimmy repeated in a stronger voice. 'I do.' He took a much needed step back across the threshold of Thomas's room and out into the corridor. 'I should let you get some rest.'

'Mmmm…' Thomas leaned his head sleepily against the door frame. 'I must admit I'm feeling quite haggard now.'

'Well I think today you've earned a good sleep!' Said Jimmy, the warmth of his earlier expression instantly reigniting behind his eyes. 'Breakfast…tomorrow?' He added a little tentatively.

Thomas nodded without removing his head from it's resting point, the door frame pulling his heavily styled hair out of shape as he did so. 'I think so.'

'Brilliant!' Jimmy grinned. 'So I will say goodnight…Mr Barrow.' He gave a small bow.

'Wait!' Thomas said quickly, reaching a hand to grip his wrist as Jimmy went to walk away. Thomas took a moment to think about his words before continuing to speak. 'If I do make it down tomorrow, and for the next few days, I'll talk to Mr Carson about starting work again next week…'

'Well that's good.'

Thomas gave Jimmy's wrist a squeeze to indicate he hadn't finished.

'…And if I do start back again next week, I think the first order of business will be to book my next half-day…for the end of the month.' He paused, searching Jimmy's eyes nervously. 'I wonder if…perhaps…you would want to accompany me if I ask Carson to let me take it from late evening until lunch-time the next day…maybe go back to Ripon…or Thirsk…or…'

Jimmy rocked forwards onto the balls of his feet ready to lunge at Thomas's lips, before abruptly remembering that while an enthusiastic kiss was undoubtedly the most effective way to convey his sentiments about that particular suggestion, it would be highly impolitic under the circumstances.

'Yes. Yes, I would like to.'

Even though he knew a kiss wouldn't be forthcoming, Jimmy caught himself licking his lips eagerly.

Thomas smiled at Jimmy's enthusiasm, giving a final squeeze to his wrist before releasing him, fighting the urge to introduce either his fingers or his mouth to the inviting sheen left over Jimmy's lips.

'Goodnight, Mr Barrow.'

'Goodnight…James!' Teased Thomas with an impish look in his eyes.

Once Jimmy had retreated into his own room, Thomas took the shortest amount of time possible to hang his uniform up in the cupboard and was out like a light the second his head touched the pillow; utterly spent from the emotionally exhausting, yet strangely comforting and mundane events of the day.

Across the corridor and a few rooms away, Jimmy also made every effort to get into bed as quickly as possible. But he wasn't tired.

His busy and suddenly elated mind cried out for his full attention, and as soon as he crawled under his bed covers he was able to indulge it.

_If there was ever a reason to get a calendar…_

_I should get a calendar._

_How many weeks is it until the end of the month? Two…two and a half? _

_I should check that. Definitely._

He stretched out his arms and legs in opposite directions to release the tension in his spine, absently running the finger of his left hand over his right wrist where Thomas had gripped it.

_However many days, it's too bloody many._

_…_

_Should have just gone with the earlier plan. Wonder if anyone would have minded…?_

Jimmy snorted in laughter at the imagined looks of shock as he rolled around the conjured image of the servant's hall table with a make-believe Thomas.

The clattering of plates, the tipping of glasses, the gasps of outrage; all combined to make Jimmy chuckle at the absurdity of the notion.

And then there was Thomas.

As he focused on the scents and sounds of his make-believe Thomas they became potent and real, lulling Jimmy seamlessly into sleep.

And if the watching members of staff briefly morphed into noblemen wearing dinner jackets, and if the man above him briefly became a young blonde with hair not unlike his own, that was alright…because it was only briefly, and the image of Thomas speedily returned to claim his rightful place.

And Jimmy made damn sure to hold him there until morning.


	11. Our Interest - Chapter 11

**Our Interest – Chapter 11**

A few days of regular meals (taken in an increasingly relaxed servant's hall) had Thomas feeling brave enough to venture downstairs outside of meal time for the first time since his initial sojourn into the kitchens. He had performed his usual trick of vanishing up the stairs as soon as dinner was concluded that night. But, rather than settling down to wait for Jimmy's late return as he'd done the previous two evenings, Thomas found himself impossibly restless. After grappling with the decision for the better part of an hour, he began to tentatively head back downstairs.

At the same time as it so happened, Mrs Hughes was also trying to build up the courage to do something she had been putting off for the past week. Namely, to bury the hatchet with Mrs Patmore.

'Now what might you be wanting to talk about, I wonder?' Said Mrs Patmore with a smugly amused expression as Mrs Hughes led the way into her office.

Mrs Hughes resisted the intense urge to scold Mrs Patmore for behaving in quite such a childish manner, reminding herself of the purpose of the exercise. She poured them each a small sherry and tried to look as apologetic as her pride, and the need to maintain authority, would let her.

This resulted in a rather pained look as she turned around to hand a sherry to Mrs Patmore, motioning for her to sit down as she did the same. Mrs Hughes looked sufficiently uncomfortable to render Mrs Patmore sympathetically mute; despite the long list of teasing comments she had plotted to torment Mrs Hughes with should she get the opportunity.

'I understand why you are angry.' Said Mrs Hughes slowly.

'Oh, no. I've no reason to be angry.' Mrs Patmore cut in brightly.

Mrs Hughes sighed. 'Look, Mrs Patmore…' She leaned in and lowered her voice, on the off chance that Mr Carson had somehow taken it upon himself to eavesdrop (despite being completely unaware the conversation was taking place). '…You know I trust and value your opinion and discretion more than perhaps anyone here when it comes to sensitive matters. But my hands were quite tied. Mr Carson was very clear that the matter go no further than those who already knew…or who needed to.' She added quickly, feeling the need to justify her own right to information as Housekeeper in the face of Mrs Patmore's reproachful look. 'Something of this nature…' Mrs Hughes began, but faltered at a surge of emotion at the memory of her bleak feelings upon hearing the initial (incorrect) version of events from Mr Carson…and the resulting mixed feelings when the truth was finally outed.

Mrs Patmore's stern expression softened immediately at Mrs Hughes's distress.

'I know you couldn't say anything.' She said, playing awkwardly with the sherry glass in her hands. 'It's just me…being silly…I know.' She sniffed. 'I'd like to think I'm a person that you can rely on, that's all.'

'I do.' Said Mrs Hughes immediately. 'And I wish I could have spoken to you about it…particularly at the beginning…' She trailed off again.

'Well…I'll be the one to get it out in the open, shall I?' Said Mrs Patmore, mustering up some cheerfulness to lift the dour mood. 'It would seem that our Mr Barrow and young James are finally an item.'

Mrs Hughes gave an automatic humph of disdain at hearing Jimmy's name, prompting a confused look from Mrs Patmore.

'Sorry.' Said Mrs Hughes. 'You are right in what you say. And on the part of Mr Barrow that _should_ be cause for some kind of celebration…But I must admit I am no fan of James. I find his earlier hypocritical prejudice unforgivable, especially in light of recent events, and I cannot approve of someone who has behaved so…improperly. Both now and historically. He's nearly brought ruin to Mr Barrow not once, but twice. And it's his fault that I am having to sit here now with you, a much valued friend and colleague, and make apologies for having offended you, entirely to protect the interest of that…' Mrs Hughes shook her head angrily, declining to offer a particular insult to complete the sentence, rendering the sentiment that much more potent for the want of it.

Mrs Patmore was momentarily stunned by the level of anger in Mrs Hughes's words and expression.

'Well…' She said gingerly. 'I don't know a thing about why Mr Barrow was arrested or released, but I do know that James has made every effort to look after him since he's come back…'

'As well he should!' Interjected Mrs Hughes vigorously. 'When he has been the sole cause of Mr Barrow's misery!'

'I don't…I don't know about that.' Said Mrs Patmore, shrinking back slightly from the force of Mrs Hughes's disapproval. 'But…I presume you asked me in here to ask how Mr Barrow wound up in the kitchen the other day before he finally came down for dinner? Well the answer is 'James'. It was his idea to find a way that Mr Barrow could come downstairs without having to face everybody all at once. And thank the Lord he did, otherwise the poor man would have wasted away in his room by now!'

'Be that as it may, I don't approve of James and I think Mr Barrow deserves better.' She paused before adding. 'I don't think James should still be in this house after everything that has happened. He's a slippery creature, an unreliable snake, immature and reckless and no good for anyone.' She said scathingly.

Mrs Patmore's eyes widened. The desperate curiosity regarding the circumstances of Thomas's arrest was expunged almost totally from her mind in the face of Mrs Hughes's unexpectedly vicious and ungenerous assessment of James; as a young member of staff technically under her charge as well as Mr Carson's.

She groped for something to say in response.

'You've been wanting to get that out for some time, haven't you?' She eventually said to Mrs Hughes, attempting a smile as she brought the sherry to her lips for a much needed taste.

Down the corridor and around the corner, Thomas crept quietly round into the kitchen, having caught sight of the back of O'Brien's head in the servant's hall upon making it down the stairs and deciding he was most definitely not ready to deal with _that _quite at that moment.

'Is everything alright, Mr Barrow?' Said Daisy, once she had gotten over the initial shock of seeing him appear in the doorway.

'Yes. Thank you.' He said, stepping quickly inside. 'You here on your own?' He peered around the quiet, and largely dark, room in surprise.

'Ivy's already gone up. I was just going over the lists for tomorrow with Mrs Patmore, but she's gone with Mrs Hughes. So I'm just…Yes, I'm on my own.' She babbled before forcing herself to come to a stop.

'Mind if I stay for a bit?' Said Thomas, indicating towards one of the chairs by the kitchen table.

'N..No.' Daisy stuttered and took an involuntary step back as Thomas approached the table to sit down. To quell her discomfort she resorted to the old standby. 'Would you like some tea?'

Thomas frowned at her evident unease. 'No tea, thank you.' He said as he pulled the chair closer to the table and settled himself into it.

The two of them regarded one another in awkward silence for longer than either of their comfort levels could accommodate.

Biting his lip uneasily, Thomas grudgingly forced himself to speak. 'Why are you nervous of me, Daisy?' He said gently, more than a little nervous of the potential answer. 'I thought we used to be friends?' He added, although conceding within his own mind that that wasn't strictly true.

Daisy nodded, clutching the cloth she held in her hands to her chest for fortitude. 'I know we were, Mr Barrow. But…I never know what to say to you now. You haven't seemed like yourself for ages…'

Thomas continued to run his lower lip through his teeth as he looked down at the table, giving an almost imperceptible nod in agreement.

'…I've had a lot of time to think about things lately. What with talking things through with Mr Mason and everything.' Said Daisy, her voice becoming suddenly stronger as she made the decision to seize upon the rare opportunity to speak to Thomas alone. 'And, if I'm honest, I don't think we _were_ friends…not really.' Thomas glanced up in surprise at Daisy's words as she summoned the courage to add. 'I think you were just being unkind to William.'

She leant back against the countertop behind, her energy quite sapped by her moment of long overdue daring. But she didn't take her eyes from Thomas's.

Thomas returned her gaze for a moment, considering, before allowing his features to shift into a genuinely mournful expression as he once again gave a tiny nod.

'That's so cruel.' Said Daisy, her chin quivering ever so slightly as she continued to stare at Thomas.

Thomas nodded more vigorously that time in agreement.

'What's got you saying this now?' He said at length.

'You seem so different.' Daisy replied after a pause. 'You have been for months, but this past week since you've been back…' She stopped abruptly, realising she had just broken the strictest orders of both Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes, but continued when Thomas urged her to do so. '…you've been so much kinder, and not so…' She paused again, nervously before continuing. '…arrogant…like you always were. It seemed like you might admit the truth about it.' She said quietly.

'I'm sorry.' Said Thomas, finding the words (which were still none too familiar to him) to be somewhat inadequate under the circumstances. 'I am.'

Daisy nodded again, finally looking away.

Thomas found himself feeling a little lighter, although the sorrowful expression that persisted on Daisy's face pained him, and searched about for a fresh topic of conversation.

But Daisy got there first.

'Was there something wrong with me?'

Daisy's small and dismal voice cut Thomas to the core.

No matter what the multitude of logical objections in his head could offer, Thomas knew instantly that to refuse to answer such a heartfelt question simply wasn't possible. Unsure of what Daisy may or may not know of the world (or rather, _his_ world…though he winced at the notion, unwilling within the confines of his own head to provide any support to the theory that there _should_ be such a division) he settled on the simplest truth.

He couldn't look at her while he said it. But he counted the fact he was saying it at all as a victory of sorts.

'It had nothing to do with you.' Thomas said slowly. 'I like men, not women…I mean, that I like men in the same way that some men love women.' In the stunned silence that followed he softly continued. 'For what it's worth, I don't think there's anything wrong with you. '

As the silence dragged on he found himself adding. 'Do you think there's something wrong with me now?'

'No.'

Thomas glanced up.

Daisy looked shocked, confused, and bewildered.

But she was shaking her head.

'No, I don't.' She said.

When Mrs Hughes walked Mrs Patmore back to the kitchen later that evening, they paused to exchange a warm look at the sight of Daisy and Thomas sitting nattering away, side by side at the kitchen table.

Then Mrs Patmore bustled purposefully into the kitchen, shouted at Daisy to get back to the lists they were supposed to be preparing, and informed Thomas he could stay if he wished. And enquired as to whether or not Daisy had offered him a cup of tea.

Mrs Hughes lingered long enough to give an encouraging smile of greeting to Thomas before heading away to Mr Carson's office.


	12. Our Interest - Chapter 12

**Our Interest – Chapter 12**

Mr Carson motioned Mrs Hughes inside his office when she appeared in the open doorway. His face fell a little when she closed the door behind her after entering.

'I'm sure you are already aware of the situation, but I thought I ought to mention that Mrs Patmore is now aware that there is something between Mr Barrow and James.' She said ruefully.

Mr Carson motioned for her to sit down and offered her a sherry. Mrs Hughes had managed two while in the company of Mrs Patmore, but reasoned that she was fully entitled to another that night given the uneasy state that her nerves had been stirred into during her earlier discussion about Jimmy.

'Yes, I am aware.' Said Carson gruffly.

Mrs Hughes took a larger than appropriate sip of her drink. 'We can rely on Mrs Patmore's discretion, but I think it's only a matter of time before it gets round to the others the way James stares brazenly at Mr Barrow whenever he's around him.'

'That is a little ungenerous, Mrs Hughes.' Said Carson carefully. 'I know you disapprove of James, but I have found his conduct to be highly commendable given the difficult circumstances.' He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 'If 'looking' is his only offence, then I think we can forgive him that.'

'My, my.' Said Mrs Hughes. 'You've certainly changed your tune.'

'All I want, Mrs Hughes, is to put this business behind us. And James has been instrumental in getting Mr Barrow back up on his feet. Not to mention an awkward moment in the upstairs dining hall at the beginning of the week, where he behaved with admirable restraint despite a highly inappropriate display from Dr Clarkson during the family dinner.' Mr Carson sighed deeply. 'I would be very grateful if you would consent to let the matter of 'James' drop, at least for the present.'

'Oh, how can I?' Said Mrs Hughes in exasperation, leaning back in her chair to cast her eyes to the ceiling.

'Mrs Hughes, if I may be so bold, I believe your disapproval of James lies in your strange and, I should add, recently obtained, affection for Mr Barrow. If I believed your concerns had any implications for the level of service at Downton, then I would of course act immediately. But as it stands, I am sorry to say that your personal feelings run contrary to the smoothest course of action for the good of the household.' Said Mr Carson sternly.

Mrs Hughes gave a bitter laugh, and with a bravado that was more than a little influenced by the sherry she replied. 'If personal feelings played no part then Alfred should have never been chosen above James as First Footman.'

Mr Carson took in a sharp breath, and puffed his chest out in preparation for an indignant response to Mrs Hughes's insulting insinuation. But he found himself quite unable to follow through.

He visibly deflated.

'I suppose we both have our favorites.' He admitted with an awkward attempt at a smile.

Back in the servant's hall, Jimmy had decided to seize upon the quiet of the late evening to finally broach the subject of serving technique with Alfred.

He glanced over at O'Brien (sitting closest to the doorway) and Anna (sitting a few spaces down the table from her), both intently sewing away at fraying skirt hems, before gently poking Alfred in the side and motioning for him to join him out in the corridor.

Alfred reluctantly rose from his spot to follow him, frowning at the lack of explanation but reading enough in Jimmy's expression to see that he wished to maintain silence until they were out of the room.

He suspected the bat-like ears of his Aunt had something to do with it.

'Alfred, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about for a while.' Jimmy whispered, standing on tip toes to get closer to Alfred's ear.

Alfred's frown rapidly inverted itself to raised eyebrows in surprise (and slight discomfort) at Jimmy's sudden proximity.

'What is it?' Said Alfred nervously.

'Promise you won't fly off the handle at me?'

'Alright…'

Unknown to them, a short way away, Daisy, Mrs Patmore and Thomas were watching them whisper together with intense curiosity from their seats round the kitchen table. A curiosity that was heightened when the two men headed towards them (prompting all three to quickly look down at the table and feign innocence).

'Mrs Patmore!' Jimmy greeted as they entered the kitchen, after taking a moment to smile in pleasant surprise at Thomas. 'Alfred and I wondered if we might briefly borrow the trays that have been set aside for tomorrow morning?'

Mrs Patmore was momentarily too astonished to answer, but she rapidly gathered herself to reply.

'By all means, just bring them back as good as you find them.' She said with a highly bemused expression, glancing towards Thomas as though he may be able to offer some explanation. He responded with a look that was utterly blank.

'Thank you, Mrs Patmore.' Said Jimmy brightly, retrieving two of the trays and offering one to Alfred as he led the way back out into the corridor.

'Oh I dread to think…' Said Mrs Patmore as she watched them go.

Thomas murmured in agreement.

'Anna, will you be our Lady?' Jimmy said grandly as he and Alfred returned to the servant's hall. He pointedly ignored the presence of O'Brien.

Anna looked over her shoulder at them somewhat warily.

'What precisely will that entail?' She said with a nervous but warm smile.

'I'm to give Alfred a few pointers about carriage and posture during meal service.' Said Jimmy.

O'Brien instantly riled up at his words. 'Now just a minute, it's not your place to…'

'Leave it!' Alfred cut her off with a stern whisper, which was of course overheard by Anna and Jimmy (who exchanged a look of surprise and amusement).

Alfred turned back to them, leaving O'Brien glowering with all the volatile but caged rage of an un-erupted volcano. 'Shall we get on then?'

'By all means.' Said Jimmy with a smile, setting the tray on his hand and contorting his body into the appropriate attitude. 'We begin like so…'

A few minutes later Alfred's earnest attentiveness, Jimmy's intense scrutiny, and Anna's bright amusement conspired to allow O'Brien to slip unnoticed into the corridor.

Thomas and Daisy, on their way to the servant's hall on Mrs Patmore's orders to find out what was going on, noticed O'Brien leaving in the direction of Mr Carson's office. They exchanged a look of concern and hovered in the corridor a moment to gauge her purpose.

Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes were just wrapping up their discussion when there was a tap on the door.

After shooting a brief look towards Mrs Hughes to establish that she was also of the opinion that their talk had reached it's logical end, Mr Carson called out for the person to enter.

'Ah, Miss O'Brien.' He said, trying to not sound too disappointed.

'Mr Carson, you'd best come quickly. Something highly unorthodox is taking place in the servant's hall.' Said O'Brien.

Mr Carson leapt from his chair immediately, feeling a palpitation coming on at the various unwelcome possibilities running through his mind, and motioned for O'Brien to lead the way. Mrs Hughes followed at a slightly slower pace, a bewildered look on her face.

The three of them immediately came upon Daisy and Thomas lurking in the corridor.

'Ah…We were just…um…' Thomas began to search for an explanation.

But the attention of all concerned was rapidly distracted by the sound of a metal tray clattering onto the floor and a peal of absolutely hysterical laughter from Anna radiating from the servant's hall.

They all quickly filed down the corridor and into the servant's hall.

'Are you _sure_ you're the one to teach me?' Said Alfred, breathless from his own more restrained laughter, standing to the left of Anna while Jimmy groped around on the floor for the dropped tray to her right.

'Well I AM having to do this with the wrong hand to demonstrate!' Jimmy exclaimed in good humor as he rose up from the floor with an energetic bounce. 'Right, now where were we…' He trailed off upon noticing the small crowd that had suddenly appeared. 'Hello.' He said somewhat sheepishly.

'Alfred, would you care to tell me the meaning of this?' Said Carson, directing his query directly over Jimmy's head.

'Jimmy's helping me improve my serving technique, Mr Carson.' Said Alfred. 'And Anna has been kind enough to let us practice on her.'

'I see…' Said Mr Carson slowly, regarding Jimmy's face carefully.

'It's not right that a _Second _Footman should instruct a First Footman.' Piped up Miss O'Brien firmly.

Mr Carson all but ignored her, a cautious but intrigued expression on his face.

'Let's see then.' He said.

Alfred and Jimmy both flushed red, their eyes frightful like rabbits caught in car headlights at the multitude of observers suddenly demanding a show. But to their credit, they both consented to move back to the wall and set their trays back on their palms in readiness.

First Jimmy, then Alfred moved forward with poise and restrained purpose to offer imaginary _hors d'oeuvres_ to 'Lady Bates'.

Carson was astonished at the change and, although he would never admit it aloud, improvement in Alfred's technique (all the more so due to his suspicion that O'Brien's intervention had likely left Jimmy with only a few minutes to work with).

'Well that's very nice…'

Everyone turned in astonishment as Thomas spoke.

'…but neither of you are quite there yet!'

He quickly walked over to grab the book off of the desk underneath the room bells and placed it on his hand as a makeshift tray.

Ignoring the completely nonplussed looks of those standing by the servant's hall doorway he spoke directly to Alfred and Jimmy.

'You're putting too much flourish in the small movements…' He said, indicating Jimmy (whose highly ecstatic glee at Thomas's appearance significantly ameliorated the effects of the criticism). 'And you're over-emphasising the big movements.' Thomas continued, shifting his focus to Alfred. 'Now, if Anna will consent to continue in her role…?' Anna gave an enthusiastic nod, watching Thomas in happy astonishment. 'Perfect! Both of you, follow me…' He said.

Alfred and Jimmy fell into step behind him as Thomas walked them all the way round the table before inclining his upper body just-so to offer his 'tray' to Anna (who obligingly pretended to retrieve food from the cover of the book) under the watchful eyes of not only Alfred and Jimmy, but also the bewildered assembled onlookers.

'Well…' Mr Carson eventually choked out. 'Keep up the good work.'

He turned and left.

Almost immediately a very sour faced O'Brien decided it was time for a smoke.

Daisy and Mrs Hughes lingered a moment longer, each of them marveling at the spectacle, before Daisy was summoned back to the kitchen by the impatient call of Mrs Patmore, prompting Mrs Hughes to also leave the servant's hall for the sanctity of her office.

When Bates eventually made his way down to the hall that evening after settling Robert into his nightclothes far later than usual, he was greeted by the sight of two Footmen and an Under Butler all vying for approval from a highly-amused Anna.

He would have been hard pressed to list all the reasons why the sight before him made him smile.


	13. Our Interest - Chapter 13

**Our Interest – Chapter 13**

The rejuvenating effects of a week of warmth, tentative but largely polite conversation, and gorging with abandon in the kitchen had Thomas looking sufficiently presentable to convince Mr Carson he was fit to be let back into view the next Monday. He hadn't trusted him with the breakfast service, but consented to let him take the tea tray up to the library when Lord Grantham rang for it a few hours later. Carson reasoned that a morning tea service (a task most appropriate to a Footman) should be well within the capabilities of an Under Butler…no matter how traumatised.

Thomas tried not to make too much of the thing. He slipped straight out of the kitchen with the tray without lingering to speak to the others, he ignored Mrs Patmore's encouraging smile, he prayed he wouldn't meet any members of staff on the stairs. Above all he refused to think about it. Absolutely refused. He let his feet guide the way instinctively and trusted that the tray would remain balanced in his hands. And begged his nerve to hold.

_I'm just delivering bloody tea. _

_It's no big matter._

_[Come on now…remember the motto that you gave Alfred and Jimmy; standards must ALWAYS be maintained.]_

_[A cup of tea is as big a matter as a glass of the finest…]_

_Not helpful!_

_[Sorry…]_

_[You know you could probably rip your trousers, swear like a sailor, spill the tea down Lord Grantham's front and trip over on your way out the room, and he would STILL commend your efforts under the circumstances.]_

In spite of himself, Thomas snorted at the thought.

But as his mind wandered further, he felt the blood receding from his extremities in preparation for what promised to be a truly spectacular anxiety attack.

_I'm not thinking about it._

_I'm not._

_And it's no big matter. _

_Just tea._

The habit of years managed to get him through the 'knocking and entering' phase of the endeavor without incident.

He tried not to look too thrown when, instead of finding Robert alone as planned, he was also confronted with Matthew and Cora.

Matthew and Robert stared at him in surprise from their respective positions in the room (Matthew on the sofa with Cora, Robert working his way through a paper stack on his desk); something which _did_ manage to throw him, until he realised that Mr Carson would not have had the chance to announce his return to work (having only made the final decision about twenty minutes earlier).

Thankfully, Cora's well drilled charm could always be relied upon.

'Mr Barrow, it's a pleasure to have you back with us.' She said warmly.

'Thank you, your Ladyship.' Said Thomas with a small bow.

That brief interlude allowed Robert and Matthew to recover themselves sufficiently to offer small nods of approval of their own.

Feeling his cheeks grow a little hot, Thomas nevertheless managed to smoothly convey the tray to the table, pour a cup of tea for Robert (recalling the correct levels of sugar, milk and tea as easily as his own birthday) and take it over to him.

Thomas didn't think he had ever seen a man so delighted to receive a cup of tea.

Thomas congratulated himself on his success, almost forgetting to offer tea to Cora and Matthew in his haste to conclude the task and chalk it up as a success. But thankfully he remembered before actually picking up the tray to leave.

While Cora accepted a cup of tea, Matthew declined.

As he readied himself to leave, thinking he was almost safe and away, Thomas's heart sank a little when he noticed Matthew had risen from the sofa.

'I'm afraid I must take my leave.' Said Matthew, expertly giving his clothes a quick readjust as he began to walk over to the door. 'There are things I need to attend to before midday.'

'Of course.' Robert said from across the room. Thomas could have sworn a knowing look passed between them.

Thomas was compelled to leave the room practically in step with Matthew, and it came as no surprise when Matthew began to speak.

'Mr Barrow, I am very glad to see that you are on the mend.'

'Thank you, Mr Crawley.' Said Thomas, counting the steps to the back staircase to mark how much longer he was likely to be compelled to stay in the presence of Matthews good-natured (but unwelcome) concern.

'I am sure that this is a sentiment that has already been relayed to you numerous times…' Continued Matthew, as though reading the discomfort in Thomas's thoughts. '…but I would like to extend my sincere apologies for what happened.'

That cut straight through Thomas's personal disease at the situation. Much as he would have rather continued along the simple lines of 'Thank you, Mr Crawley', he could not abide Matthew talking any part of the burden of guilt for his arrest. Not when Matthew had been uninvolved in the whole fiasco. Not after what he (and Jimmy) had to thank him for.

His conscience wouldn't abide it.

'You didn't really have anything to do with what happened though, did you?' Said Thomas, attempting a small reassuring smile. The smile refused to fully form but it had the desired effect. Matthew seemed to relax a little.

'I suppose not…' Matthew said. 'But that doesn't mean I'm not sorry it happened.' He looked sideways at Thomas, taking in his appearance. 'I must say that you seem to have made a remarkable recovery, if Lord Grantham's account of your state upon first returning is to be believed.'

'My 'state'?' Thomas said without thinking, wrinkling his nose up at the thought of how he may have been described.

'I'm sorry. Sometimes my talent for expression quite abandons me.' Said Matthew looking abashed. 'I just meant to say that you are looking well.'

'Thank you, Mr Crawley.' Said Thomas, grateful to be closing in on the door to the staircase, where he severely hoped Matthew and he would shortly part ways.

It was a forlorn hope.

Quite unexpectedly, Matthew extended a hand to softly grip his upper arm, indicating that he should hold a moment. Matthew glanced round the empty corridor carefully before speaking again in a low whisper.

'I just wanted to say that I am now aware of the full circumstances surrounding the…' Matthew's voice became even quieter. '…Crowborough incident. And while I remain frustrated that you did not see fit to properly confine in me, I commend your actions in trying to protect James.'

'I didn't realise he'd told you…that much.' Said Thomas softly.

'I believe he told us everything that there is to know about himself.' Said Matthew gingerly. 'I trust that _you_ are fully aware of his…prior profession.'

Thomas nodded, feeling something akin to a lead weight settle on his tongue at the unwelcome reminder, but he forced himself to speak.

'I am very grateful to you and Lord Grantham for letting Jim...James stay here, especially after he's admitted to…' He wracked his brains for the most delicate way to put it. '…soliciting on your property. It's a much appreciated kindness.'

'Despite everything, I do think he showed good character in his recent actions.' Said Matthew with a movement that was almost a shrug. 'I believe under your influence he has quite turned a corner in his life. As Lord Grantham is fond of saying, we all have chapters we would prefer to keep unpublished. Besides, I believe a relationship built on an understanding of a partner's less than perfect past is far stronger than one which has never been tested.'

Thomas suspected he wasn't supposed to recognise the complete story behind Matthew's heart-felt sentiment, which was why he kept his humorous thoughts (as a defense mechanism against the skin-crawling reality) about the differences between having sex with a single Turkish diplomat versus half of Manchester to himself.

Thomas felt quite on edge by the time he made it back downstairs. He quickly deposited the tray in the kitchen and made his way immediately to Carson's office.

He had intended to put off asking Mr Carson about booking his next half-day until he had a full day's work under his belt. But Matthew's kindly concern had put him in a sufficiently dark mood that he found himself feeling compelled to jump straight into it, if only as a much welcome distraction.

'Ah, Mr Barrow!' Carson greeted him with far more enthusiasm than normal when he arrived at his office. 'I trust you were able to complete the task.'

'Yes, Mr Carson.' Said Thomas, feeling his nerve draining rapidly away now that the moment of cheek was upon him. And he had to concede it _was_ cheeky to be already thinking about time off when he wasn't technically back at work yet.

'Is there anything else…'Carson said slowly, eyeing Thomas's nervous posture as he lingered in front of his desk.

Thomas cleared his throat. 'It…It just occurred to me, Mr Carson, that I couldn't remember when my next half day was booked for…' He said, seizing upon the inspired thought as a means of making himself look _slightly_ less impertinent.

Carson immediately raised his eyebrows and lowered his chin into his chest to illustrate that he could see straight through Thomas's pretense, but he indicated for him to continue regardless.

'I wondered perhaps if I could book the twenty seventh of this month to go away…in the late evening… and perhaps return at lunch the next day?' Thomas almost tripped over his tongue in his haste to get the sentence out, and stood consumed with intense embarrassment while he waited for Carson to respond.

'I'm afraid that is out of the question…' Said Carson.

Thomas opened his mouth to protest, although he had no idea precisely how he could expect to do so successfully.

Sensing an impending indignant response, Carson held up a hand to silence him.

'It is out of the question because that is the day of the hospital benefit, which is to be a large gathering held here at Downton and we shall need every man; including yourself…and James.' Carson added, making brief and highly uncomfortable eye contact with Thomas to indicate that he understood the situation. 'You may go on the twenty fifth.'

Thomas's mouth remained open, though now in pleasant surprise rather than angry disappointment.

'Thank you, Mr Carson, I…'

Carson once again held a hand up to silence him.

'That is quite sufficient, thank you Mr Barrow.' He said sternly.

'Yes, Mr Carson.' Said Thomas, forcing himself to settle down externally, while his innards continued to perform an enthusiastic foxtrot.

Carson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'I might ask, Mr Barrow, that in future you note your proposed leave straight down in the book…' He patted the large leather bound volume on his desk. '…rather than discussing each separate instance with myself. If I see any problems with the dates you are proposing then I will of course discuss the matter with you, but otherwise I'd…' He trailed off.

…_rather avoid talking about it._

Thomas finished for him.

'That will be fine.' Thomas said. 'Thank you, Mr Carson.'

He left the office in high spirits; now tormented only by musing on whether he should find Jimmy and tell him immediately, or wait and spring it on him as a surprise later.


	14. Our Interest - Chapter 14

**Our Interest – Chapter 14**

Thomas cracked and told Jimmy that night. He had come so dangerously close to publicly, triumphantly (and highly inappropriately) announcing their impending time off multiple times that day, that Thomas felt compelled to seize the earliest opportunity to enlighten Jimmy as soon as he got him in private.

The moment finally came late that night.

'So what do you think?' Said Thomas nervously after telling him, resting on the doorframe of his bedroom doorway while Jimmy stood outside in the corridor as per usual.

'There aren't words, Mr Barrow.' Said Jimmy, a delighted look on his mouth; a ravenous look in his eyes.

Thomas smiled warmly back at him.

Jimmy calmed himself a little before speaking again, and lowered his voice considerably to do so.

'To be honest, I wasn't sure that His Lordship and Mr Crawley were serious about telling Mr Carson to let us take off together…and overnight.' He said.

'Yes.' Thomas laughed. 'I must admit, I thought you'd dreamt that bit! It does seem too good to be true.'

'Hmmm…well not quite.' Jimmy responded slowly.

'How so?'

'Just imagine what it'll be like meeting Mr Carson's eyes for the first time when we return the next day…' Said Jimmy, screwing up his face in distaste.

Now it was Thomas's turn to lower his voice. 'If him and the others can ignore us having a nice few days to ourselves when I got let out of prison, then I think they'll be perfectly capable of looking the other way, and ignoring this…_repeatedly_.' Said Thomas with a wink.

Jimmy smiled and went to lean in towards him, catching himself just in time, before Thomas felt compelled to push him away. Jimmy sighed and glanced very carefully up and down the corridor before whispering. 'I keep wanting to bloody kiss you, and I hate it when I remember I can't.'

Thomas grimaced a little in response.

'All in good time, eh?' He said before reluctantly bidding Jimmy goodnight.

The rest of Thomas's first week back at work passed relatively placidly, and he was back to near full duties by the weekend. But he knew that there were still a few important milestones to be passed before he could fully relax.

He was just returning from the Sunday brunch service when he received an invitation to one such milestone, one that he had been anticipating for some time.

'Mr Barrow.' Called Mrs Hughes. 'I wonder if you might join me in my office for some tea?'

'Certainly, Mrs Hughes.' He said with an easy smile, dearly wanting to refuse the request itself (having no desire to, once again, talk about 'it') but utterly unable to refuse _her_; because this was Mrs Hughes, and whatever the circumstances, he would continue to be grateful for her existence until the day he died.

He settled uncomfortably in the offered seat by the small table and silently watched Mrs Hughes work expertly through the time honored ritual of English tea making.

'Now…' Mrs Hughes said as she handed him a cup. 'I suppose you know what it is I want to ask you?' She settled down in the chair opposite.

Thomas stared awkwardly at his tea cup.

Mrs Hughes tutted a little at his uneasy expression. 'I only want to know how you are settling in, if you are alright, Mr Barrow?'

'I'm alright, Mrs Hughes.' Said Thomas quietly, attempting a smile. He saw Mrs Hughes's face begin to fall at his unenthusiastic and dismissively brief response. 'I mean…' He quickly continued. 'I'm eating properly now, sleeping properly too. My hand's not perfect, but it's useable now…' Thomas held up the tea cup in his left hand to illustrate. 'And everyone…or at least everyone that matters…has been very kind to me.'

Mrs Hughes followed his every word intently and looked truly warmed by them. The look on her face was enough to draw Thomas's mouth into another smile, a genuine one that time.

'If you don't mind my being quite so nosy, can I ask you how Mr Carson has been with you about all this?' Said Mrs Hughes a little tentatively.

'Amazing.'

The word ejected itself out of Thomas's mouth before he'd even had time to think about it, but he did decide, on reflection, that the word was perfectly appropriate.

'He's been very good to me, Mrs Hughes.' Said Thomas. 'After everything…' He finished with a bitter quirk of the corner of his mouth.

Mrs Hughes nodded slightly mournfully in agreement with the last sentiment.

'Well I am glad to hear he is treating you appropriately.' She said. 'Otherwise myself and Mrs Patmore would be having words!' She concluded teasingly.

'Mrs Patmore?' Thomas said in surprise.

Mrs Hughes gave him a bemused look. 'I believe James's…' Her expression momentarily darkened, but quickly recovered to normal as she continued. '…actions on your behalf since your return provided the final confirmation. But she has _known_ for quite some time.'

'Course she has.' Thomas muttered to his tea cup before finally deeming it cool enough to take a sip.

Mrs Hughes did the same, waiting a little while before speaking again.

'Now…Mr Barrow, I want to offer my congratulations on your successful return to work under difficult circumstances. And I don't want you to think that what I say next is designed to in any way diminish or doubt your achievement; but I want you to know that you _can_ come to me if you need help.'

'Thank you, Mrs Hughes.'

Thomas took a few large gulps of his tea, sensing the conversation was reaching it's logical conclusion.

'There is one other thing I should like to…discuss with you.' Said Mrs Hughes, her voice becoming noticeably colder.

'Yes, of course.' Said Thomas a little nervously.

'I am aware…' She began slowly. '…of the nature of the agreement that was made, by James, with Lord Grantham on your behalf…'

Thomas nodded.

'…and I understand that the decision on whether or not James would remain in service here, was given to you to make.'

Thomas nodded again, a little more hesitantly this time.

Mrs Hughes sighed deeply before continuing. 'I…I suppose I need some assurance that you have chosen to continue your…attachment…to him for the right reasons.'

Thomas stared at her.

'Are you sure of him, Mr Barrow?'

'Yes.' Said Thomas immediately, although he was more than a little thrown by the question.

'What I mean, is are you _sure_ he is not just using you, your affections, in order to keep his job here?'

'Mrs Hughes…' Said Thomas in very clipped tones. 'James is more than talented and hard-working enough to justify keep his job on his own, in time everyone will see that. And if this was just about his job, why would he have admitted what really happened to get me out of prison? There was nothing forcing him to do it.'

'The conscience is a powerful thing.' Said Mrs Hughes sagely.

'Mrs Hughes. I _am_ sure of him.' Said Thomas angrily. 'And I'll thank you to leave it there.'

'Settle down, Mr Barrow.' Said Mrs Hughes sternly. 'I'll remind you that your feelings for James almost had you in prison last year, and succeeded in putting you there this year. I have _every _right to be concerned that when it comes to James your heart rules your head and you do not act in your own best interest.' The pitch of her voice rose and quickened as she spoke, and the speech finished off sounding distinctly like a scolding.

Thomas was left momentarily stunned.

His fingers played round the rim of his tea cup as he tried to put his finger on precisely what it was in Mrs Hughes's words that made him feel quite so uneasy.

'What about him?' Said Thomas suddenly.

'What do you mean?'

'Why are you on my side, and not his?'

Mrs Hughes frowned in puzzlement at the query.

Thomas sniffed before continuing. 'What I did to him before, when I kissed him, that _wasn't_ right. He'd never said I could, and I did it when he had no chance to say no. But even then, no one was on his side.'

'People don't tend to side with those who are vain, arrogant and consistently show disdain for the feelings of others.' Mrs Hughes responded simply.

'But that's just it!' Said Thomas. 'Pardon me, but God knows I've treated people here just as badly if not worse than he has in the past…and mostly for the same reasons.'

'Well I'm sorry to say it, but I believe that is the crux of it.' Said Mrs Hughes levelly. 'Over your _very _colorful time here you have become a man that I am proud to trust as a colleague, but I don't think you will deny that it has taken much time and effort to get here.' She leant in, demanding rather than seeking eye contact and acknowledgement. 'I don't believe either myself or this household…' She said. '…can weather _another_ young 'Thomas Barrow'.'

Knowing that a loss of composure was imminent, Thomas speedily brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, concealing his face as he bowed his head.

'I'm sorry…' He said unhappily, but quickly decided to relegate that particular conversation for another time. 'But James is different now. He's been trying so hard, you must have seen it yourself these past few weeks.'

'What I see, Mr Barrow, is a young man who will do anything to keep his job.'

Thomas sprung furiously out of his chair, almost upsetting the table in the process.

The adrenaline immediately drained out of him at the sight of Mrs Hughes's shock and he quickly bent over to put out a hand to settle the tea cups that were rattling on the table.

'Mrs Hughes…' He said carefully. '…you are the closest thing to a mother that I have had in years, and I know that's true for many others here as well, and I understand and appreciate your concern…' His voice grew harder. 'But you are _wrong _about James. And I don't ever want to hear you talk like that again.'

For a moment, a heavy silence descended.

Thomas's demeanor and voice softened as he asked. 'Will that be all, Mrs Hughes?'

'I think that had better be.' She said quietly, a wary expression on her face.

Thomas bowed and made a hasty exit, swallowing down the uncomfortable lump that had been growing in his throat.


	15. Our Interest - Chapter 15

**Our Interest – Chapter 15**

To Thomas's intense pleasure, the majority of the next week passed without further awkward conversation and both he and Jimmy began to dance with increasing excitement round one another as the twenty fifth of the month finally drew near.

But the torturous wait _was_ somewhat harder on Jimmy than on Thomas.

Weeks of pouring his heart and soul into the rare opportunities to shine that the position as Second Footman afforded him, and receiving little to no recognition of that fact, was beginning to wear thin; something not helped by his increasingly troubled sleeping. When the servant's hall fantasy had finally failed completely to keep his subconscious at bay, he had moved on to imagining the upcoming stay at the Inn. That particular fantasy had the benefit of actually having some hold in reality (i.e. he could genuinely take delight at the potential to act out such things in the near future), and it worked…for a while.

But as the final countdown to the return to Ripon was reached, Jimmy found himself quite unable to force Thomas's face onto the nameless but familiar parade of visitors to the imaginary room (which, itself, refused to remain the well presented twin accommodation conjured in his mind and instead morphed into a single, bleak and tiny room which was good for one purpose alone.)

Such dreams bothered him now in a way they never had before. And an almost completely sleepless night had him in a very foul mood the day before they were due to go away.

He had noticed Daisy's eyes lingering on him with a strange expression a few times throughout the week, but that particular day it irritated him intently. Unable to confront her directly, knowing full well that several senior members of staff were waiting intently for him to slip up, there was only one person appropriate to vent to.

Slipping out into the yard that afternoon, Jimmy found Thomas (as expected) indulging in a cigarette.

After establishing that they were alone (i.e. that O'Brien would not suddenly spring out from beside the wall) Jimmy approached Thomas at a purposeful stride.

'Have you said something to Daisy?' He demanded.

'About…?' Said Thomas slowly, highly unimpressed at the unexpected reappearance of Jimmy's petulance.

Jimmy shot him a dull look. 'I'm sure the answer will come to you if you _really_ put your mind to it.' He said patronizingly.

'Yes.' Said Thomas simply, taking a slow draw on the cigarette. 'I suppose I did.' He curled his lower lip and tongue up to feed the smoke escaping from his mouth back up into his nostrils for a second inhale.

'Why would you do that?' Said Jimmy.

Thomas turned to him. 'Because she's a friend, and she needed to know…I thought you were comfortable with people knowing now?'

'In theory, yes!' Said Jimmy in agitation. 'But it's not about that alone…' He continued, a lick of fear appearing behind his eyes. 'We can't afford to cause any trouble, and Mr Carson was _very_ clear that we are expected to keep this to ourselves!'

Thomas gave a huge snort of laughter, but quickly suppressed it at the look of hurt and desolate abandonment that appeared on Jimmy's face as a result.

'I'm sorry.' Said Thomas quickly. 'I don't mean to mock your worry. I just think it's very unlikely that Carson would haul us up over someone finding out. I mean…' Thomas discarded his cigarette and glanced around the yard before stepping in to take one of Jimmy's trembling hands in his.

'…think about it, there's barely any of the residential staff left that _don't _know. There's the three maids, one of the hall boys, Ivy and Miss O'Brien…that's it!' Most of the others knew about me before, and they've gone on to be told or to guess the rest. Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes, Mrs Patmore, Mr Bates, and I'll bet he's told Anna, _I _told Daisy, and we know Mr Molesley, Brett and Alfred are more than aware…' Thomas allowed his voice to trail off as he searched Jimmy's face for a sign that his anxiety was lifting.

'I suppose you're right.' Said Jimmy quietly, still looking dubious, but Thomas took reassurance from the way that Jimmy was entwining their fingers together.

'You know…something funny did occur to me the other day.' Said Thomas, wanting to snatch his hand back but painfully aware of the comfort that Jimmy seemed to be drawing from it. '

'What's that?' Said Jimmy.

'Think about how annoyed Miss O'Brien will be when she finds out about us…only to realise that the information will do her bugger all good because everyone else already knows!'

It was more Thomas's slip into a comically thick accent in the last sentence that made Jimmy laugh, rather than the sentiment itself. But Jimmy had to admit, imagining the conversation between O'Brien and Carson on that account _was_ a very amusing thought.

'That's better.' Said Thomas, watching Jimmy's amusement with a smile. 'Now I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask for my hand back…'

'Oh, of course!' Jimmy loosened his grip enough to let Thomas pull away.

Thomas leaned in briefly to whisper 'Tomorrow night, you can hold any part of me you wish' before heading back towards the house, leaving a much happier Jimmy in his wake.


	16. Our Interest - Chapter 16

**Chapter 16 – Our Interest**

To say that Thomas and Jimmy had been eagerly anticipating the moment when the door would close behind them, leaving them alone in their room at the Inn, would be an understatement of mammoth proportions. But while their excitement and anticipation had grown throughout the previous week (and the painfully slow bus ride into Ripon), when the moment was actually upon them there was a palpable shift to discomfort and unease.

Somehow their both knowing the (arguably) sole reason they were there, rather than enabling them to immediately give in to everything they had fantasised for weeks, made the situation so tense and pressurised (not to mention, seedy) that they both found themselves crippled by sheer awkwardness.

They stood silently, motionlessly, side by side with suitcases (for appearance only) still in hand, for a few excruciating seconds that felt like hours.

Each of them willed the other to suddenly grab ahold of them, make the first move, but simultaneously they were each secretly relieved that the other did not. Because the atmosphere at that moment was far too tense for any attentions to be genuinely appreciated.

'Well this isn't too bad, is it?' Said Jimmy brightly, taking a few steps towards the center of the room, discarding all thoughts of a meeting of mouths (or anything else) for the present amid the need to ease some of the tension.

The room was indeed 'not bad'; the same arrangement of two single beds (set at each side of the room), modest fireplace, desk/bureau, drawers, lamp and chair that one could expect to encounter in any sensibly priced overnight accommodation. This room was smaller (and the Inn less prestigious) than the previous one they had stayed in, primarily because they were at their own expense this time, but was otherwise perfectly adequate.

Jimmy dropped his case to the floor and kicked it under the nearest bed.

'I claim the chair!' He said grandly, crossing the room to pull the plain wooden chair out from the side of the bureau. He dropped it in front of the fireplace and sank onto it, eyes closed and arms stretched languidly above his head.

Something in the perfectly mundane action managed to awaken Thomas's interest from deep within the confines of awkwardness and discomfort. He found the sight…agreeable. He also found, as though for the first time, that the two of them were quite alone.

'Be a dear and light the fire.' Jimmy drawled merrily at Thomas, who hadn't moved from the doorway.

'Think we'll need one do you?'

Jimmy's eyes flew open at the unfamiliar depth and suggestiveness in Thomas's voice.

He looked over to the doorway where Thomas was making a long job of setting down his suitcase and getting out of his coat, the barest hint of a grin on his face as he deliberately evaded Jimmy's surprised and probing eye-contact.

'You tell me…' Jimmy said, wishing he could conjure up a slightly better attempt at emulating Thomas's maddeningly sultry tone.

He watched, eyes glued to every move as Thomas swaggered, most definitely 'swaggered' not walked, slowly over towards him.

Jimmy wasn't to know, but that particular manner of 'approach' was one that Thomas had used almost a decade ago on a man far less deserving, and one that he had highly doubted he would ever have the confidence (or occasion) to use again.

Thomas's tiny grin grew a little broader as Jimmy's eyes continued to open wider in tentative delight as he approached. When Jimmy's eyelids had stretched open to their maximum limit, Thomas noted with pleasure that Jimmy's lips began to perform a similar feat.

He gave a brief brush to the corner of Jimmy's lower lip with his index finger as he slid onto his lap, coming to rest with his thighs either side of Jimmy's waist, purposefully maintaining a few inches of distance between their torsos.

'Bloody hell!' Said Jimmy, breaking the pent up heat of the moment. 'Remind me to tell Mrs Patmore to stop giving you cakes!' He said, giving a playful slap to Thomas's backside.

'What was that?' Said Thomas in a teasing whisper, his hands lightly resting on Jimmy's arms as he brought their noses almost tip to tip, deliberately allowing the breaths from his lightly parted lips to play over Jimmy's. As Jimmy moved his chin up slightly to bring their mouths together, Thomas shifted back ever so slightly, just enough to maintain a hair's breadth of distance between them; a tiny movement that would have been insignificant under any other circumstances, but in the current situation elicited a desperately disapproving moan from Jimmy.

'What was that?' Thomas repeated, once again bringing his face gently to Jimmy's, only to retreat when the latter attempted to make contact.


	17. Our Interest - Chapter 17

**Our Interest – Chapter 17**

For those who like to avoid it: WARNING [EXPLICIT] M/M SLASH this chapter.

Jimmy's fingers began to dig bruisingly tightly into Thomas's rear as the latter continued the back-and-forth battle over that crucial fraction of an inch of air space.

Much as Thomas enjoyed teasing Jimmy's frustrated arousal, and much as Jimmy had to admit he admired the game; it was a relief to both when Jimmy finally cracked, lunging insistently at Thomas's lips as he brought an immobilizing hand up to the back of Thomas's head.

The force and vigor of the kiss's inception vanished the second their lips met, their movements becoming contentedly slow, tasting, savoring.

The small sound that accompanies the release of one saliva slicked mouth from another became the sole noise in the room; one that was repeated over and over, gentle and unhurried. Thomas's brought his hands to loosely rest on Jimmy's waist, between his jacket and shirt, while Jimmy relaxed his hold of Thomas's backside to slide his hands forwards to grip his hips.

Little by little, and quite unconsciously, Thomas slid his body forwards.

As Thomas's pressing arousal brushed up against Jimmy's equally prominent erection both men drew back from the kiss in surprise, eyeing one another, unsure of who had initiated the contact.

While this eye-centric questioning was occurring between them, their bodies decided that the time for rational thought and restraint was rapidly coming to an end.

As Jimmy's grip once again tightened, Thomas rocked his hips forwards to bring some much needed friction between his groin and Jimmy's.

Deciding that establishing who had 'started it' was suddenly completely unimportant, Thomas accompanied the next rock of his hips with a lingering kiss; that Jimmy was more than content to accept. At least, for a little while.

'You know…' Jimmy said, shifting his head to kiss the side of Thomas's neck before whispering in his ear. '…if you keep doing that…; He ran his palms in a small circle over the sides of Thomas's hips. '…I may have no choice…' He moaned and kissed Thomas's neck again as Thomas gave another, teasingly slow, rock of his hips. '…other than to treat you in an ungentlemanly manner.' He concluded, brushing his lips against the southernmost skin exposed above Thomas's shirt collar.

'Tell me more.' Thomas growled, his chin ruffling Jimmy's hair as he spoke.

Jimmy brought his mouth back up to Thomas's ear, licking a trail up his throat as he did so.

'You could take these off…' Jimmy tugged lightly at the fabric of Thomas's trousers. '…and find out.'

Thomas shifted slightly, bringing himself back face to face with Jimmy.

'Would it work like this?' He said, indicating their respective positions with a nod of his head, smoldering seduction briefly giving way to the innocent curiosity of inexperience.

'Um…' Jimmy looked sheepishly downwards, painfully reminded of Thomas's relative naivety, searching for a delicate (and preferably elegant) way to simultaneously reassure Thomas and ensure that he understood exactly what he was suggesting.

In the end he decided, at the risk of completely killing the already tenuous 'moment', that it would be best to present the information in a truthfully inelegant and un-sugarcoated manner.

'I'm asking if I can have you…get _in_ you…you know, penetrate you…like this.' He gave a reassuring squeeze to Thomas's hip. 'It'll be awkward at first, but it _is_ possible…If you like the idea…?'

'Mmmm…' Thomas mused for a moment.

He eventually leaned forwards to rest his forehead against Jimmy's, bringing a hand up to stroke out some of the worry evident in Jimmy's tense jaw. 'I suppose you have been very good to me lately…' He whispered teasingly.

Jimmy smiled broadly at the reappearance of Thomas's playful confidence.

As though in response to a starting gun, the tentative and pensive spell was suddenly broken as they both surged forwards to ferociously rejoin their mouths together.

Their tongues, previously absent from the proceedings, snaked enthusiastically into action, with both men happy to pay the price of the occasional clash of teeth in order to deepen the kiss to a level well beyond obscene.

Likewise, the movements of their bodies became more insistent, more hungry, more wanton.

'Get theses off _NOW _or so help me God…' Jimmy gasped, palming the fabric of Thomas's trousers. '…I know where you keep your pen-knife!' He said, flicking at the breast pocket of Thomas's jacket with his spare hand.

With a disapproving moan, Thomas slid off Jimmy's lap to stand in front of him.

Jimmy quickly extracted himself from his outdoor coat and threw it unceremoniously behind the chair before unclasping his braces, sliding his hands up under his waistcoat without unbuttoning it in order to do so.

Deciding that was more than enough effort to undress on his part, Jimmy's hands dropped straight to his trouser fly to work it open.

He was immediately distracted from his task by the sound of Thomas's trousers falling to the floor.

'Satisfied?' Said Thomas with an innocently raised eyebrow, standing there clad in long johns from the waist down and fully dressed from the waist up.

'Only if you don't mind leaving here with them in two pieces.' Said Jimmy, indicating Thomas's long johns with a grin as he finally succeeded in getting his trousers open.

Thomas grinned back as he began to work the clingy white fabric down his thighs, his eyes locked onto Jimmy's as he did so.

Jimmy found himself staring intently at the look in Thomas's eyes, a look far more naked and enticing than the rapidly increasing amount of flesh on display.

Not that the flesh wasn't also appreciated.

So much so that Jimmy felt no need to complain when, instead of immediately returning to his lap to straddle him, Thomas continued to shed items of clothing until he stood completely uncovered in front of him.

'Oh…' Jimmy breathed softly.

Without the distraction of working on the clasps and buttons of his clothing, Thomas found himself feeling overly exposed and somewhat embarrassed.

'Come here.' Said Jimmy softly, holding his arms out.

As Thomas moved towards Jimmy he found his progress momentarily checked by a hand on his hip.

Jimmy stared at Thomas's stomach. Or, more specifically, at the reduced prominence of the ribs above it and at the absence of ugly bruising upon it.

'That's more like it…' He said appreciatively, leaning forwards to place a gentle kiss to the side of Thomas's navel.

Thomas gave a small laugh, but his discomfort at feeling quite so exposed remained. Jimmy immediately pulled him down onto his lap, enveloping him in a warm hug.

'So what about you then?' Said Thomas, running his hands up the lapels of Jimmy's blazer.

'Still want it?' Said Jimmy teasingly, deliberately brushing his hand against Thomas's erection as he finally released his own.

'Oh yes.' Thomas replied, returning to kissing him as he began to work open the buttons of Jimmy's waist coat. 'Now I may not know where you keep _your _pen-knife…' Said Thomas, slipping his hand into the pocket of Jimmy's blazer. 'But I know where to find the important things.' He continued, pulling out a small bottle and pressing it into Jimmy's palm before starting work on Jimmy's shirt buttons.

Jimmy grinned up at him, giggling internally at the slightly wary look that flitted across Thomas's face as he oiled up both of his hands.

Largely ignoring his own arousal, although Thomas's proximity ensured it received an acceptable amount of peripheral attention, Jimmy moved his lubricated palms and fingers to firmly and precisely massage Thomas's erection.

The amount of time it took Thomas (a seasoned Valet) to open barely half of the buttons on Jimmy's shirt was probably the most glowing assessment of Jimmy's skills (a seasoned…um, yeah) that he had ever received.

When Jimmy moved one of his hands to begin simultaneously stroking over (not to mention, slightly into) Thomas's entrance it upped the ante sufficiently to cause Thomas to completely abandon his task.

As Jimmy began to shift the focus of his attentions from his erection to further his progress in probing into him, Thomas found himself unable to do much more than push his hands up under Jimmy's partially undone shirt to claw at his chest while burying his face in his neck to muffle the involuntary sounds escaping from his mouth.

'Tell me when.' Jimmy whispered in his ear.

'Ten bloody minutes ago!' Thomas responded, giving a quick nip to Jimmy's neck before sitting upright to await guidance.

'Raise yourself just a little.' Said Jimmy as he shifted himself slightly in the chair. 'Good…' He said as Thomas moved into position. 'Now…you might want to…' Jimmy mimed biting down on his index finger with his spare hand.

Thomas raised his eyebrows dubiously, but raised a hand to his mouth and slid a finger inside as per instruction.

'Alright.' Said Jimmy with a lengthy exhale, willing _himself _to relax as much as Thomas as he began to buck up into him.

As predicted, and expected, it _was_ awkward at first and Jimmy spent a good few minutes feeling like a complete and utter bastard when Thomas's initial pain hit the upper limits of the acceptable threshold and necessitated a very long pause mid-act.

But soon, as Jimmy had hoped (if only partially expected) Thomas began to revel enthusiastically in the strange duality of the position; being technically submissive and open, while at the same time affording complete control to direct the encounter.

As Thomas moved on him, naturally excelling in the mercurial nature of the role at hand, Jimmy alternated pleasurably between cursing and applauding him as Thomas alternated between cruelly withholding and generously giving exactly what they both needed.

Jimmy had intended to suggest halting the encounter and moving to the bed at some point, to continue in a more orthodox position, but as he felt his climax approaching the will to do so abruptly vanished.

Through the haze that had descended over his thoughts, Jimmy managed to string together enough words to let Thomas know of the impending conclusion; leaving the final decision on the matter up to him.

He was intensely glad when Thomas chose to speed up the rolling of his hips rather than withdraw.

Jimmy threw back his head in abandon as he released.

In that moment, absolutely _nothing _mattered.

When he eventually raised his head and opened his eyes he found Thomas was still shaking slightly and panting from the exertion.

'Are you alright?' Jimmy said, running a gentle hand up Thomas's arm.

Thomas nodded before choking out a simple 'My God!' with regards to the event they had just concluded.

Jimmy laughed. 'Yes, quite!' He agreed. 'Come on, let's get you cleaned up.' He began to maneuver Thomas's hips.

'I hope you don't think we're finished for the night…' Said Thomas with a sly smile as he gingerly raised himself up off Jimmy.

'No, not at all!' Jimmy exclaimed, and he meant it, but he still directed Thomas over to the wash basin for a brief going over before consenting to be led to the bed.


	18. Our Interest - Chapter 18

**Our Interest – Chapter 18**

Thomas awoke immediately at the sound of insistent knocking at the door. His heart (not to mention his thermo-regulatory system) temporarily stopped working. He bolted upright in the bed, his arm sliding out from under Jimmy's side, in abject terror that the two of them had (despite their best efforts) been overheard.

But as Jimmy began to stir awake beside him, murmuring in protest at the loss of warmth as both Thomas's arms and the bed sheets were pulled from his torso, Thomas was confused to see that there was light streaming in through the window.

He realised it was already morning; early morning, if he had correctly deduced the angle of the light, but morning nonetheless. He felt the tension in his body uncoil as he realised that any complaints or suspicions about the level of noise from the room would have most likely been addressed _during _the event the previous night. That realisation, however, did not entirely quell his fear.

The fact remained that there _was _someone knocking unexpectedly at the door.

A second knock, louder than the first, abruptly reminded Thomas that the issue needed attending to. But NOT before a few other considerations…

'Just a minute!' Thomas called out, rolling unceremoniously over a still very dozy Jimmy and extracting himself awkwardly from the bunched bed sheets in order to stand up.

He quickly ran over to the other side of the room.

He pushed, pulled and plumped the bed sheets and pillows of the hitherto untouched second bed. Then he busied himself with gathering up the messily discarded clothes around the floor in front of the fireplace, dumping them in a pile at the far corner.

Jimmy had just about managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, his unkept hair adding a few extra inches to his height atop his head, in time to see Thomas shunting the wooden chair back to the side of the bureau. His eyes met Thomas's and he raised a sleepy but mocking eyebrow at Thomas's paranoia that the chair's presence by the fireplace might have somehow given away their nefarious activities. Thomas shot him a reproachful look in response, conveying the clear sentiment of 'can't be too careful', before he began to make his way over to the door.

He stopped at the sound of a mirthful snort of laughter from Jimmy.

Thomas looked back at Jimmy in confusion.

It took several pointed sweeps of Jimmy's eyes before Thomas twigged what he was getting at. He acknowledged with a wry smile that it _could_ be considered inappropriate to answer the door completely nude.

He dashed back over to the other side of the room to fish amongst the clothes pile, pulling on an undershirt and ungracefully hopping into a pair of long johns (that he _hoped_ were his) as he began to cross back to the door.

He wasn't wild about the prospect of answering the door in nothing but underwear, but at the sound of yet another knock he reasoned that the interloper would just have to accept it. He heard Jimmy sink back down onto the mattress behind him as he opened the door just a slither to reveal the person standing outside.

It was the Innkeeper who had checked them in the previous evening.

Thomas frowned, brushing absently at the sleep in his eyes that he had disregarded during his earlier adrenaline rush. Thinking back to the state of Jimmy on the bed behind him, Thomas dreaded to think what his own hair looked like.

'I am sorry to disturb you Mr Barrow.' Said the Innkeeper, sounding disgruntled and not in the least bit sorry. 'I know it is very early. But there is a gentleman downstairs who says he has urgent business with you. We're not supposed to be open yet, but he got me out of bed with his knocking.' Added the Innkeeper gruffly.

_Well thank you for returning the favor…_

'Well who is he?' Said Thomas bluntly, in no mood to put on graces of his own.

'Says he's some '_chauffeur_'.' Said the Innkeeper, mocking the word as unnecessarily ostentatious, clearly of the opinion that the word 'driver' would have been more than appropriate. 'He's come from a place called Downton.'

Thomas's frown deepened.

_What the hell…?_

'Tell him to come up.' Said Thomas, shutting the door abruptly in the Innkeeper's face before he had the chance to protest.

'Jimmy.' Said Thomas as he turned back to the bed. He sighed in exasperation at Jimmy's attempt to burrow himself further under the covers, making a poor but determined attempt to appear asleep. 'Jimmy, get up!' Thomas hissed, moving quickly to the side of the bed and giving Jimmy's protruding hip a vigorous shake. 'Frank's on his way up. It seems like…'

His words were cut off as Jimmy unexpectedly darted out a hand to grab his wrist and pull him back down onto the bed.

Thomas gave a half-hearted moan of protest as Jimmy locked their lips together for a sloppy, morning-breath flavored, but intoxicatingly needful and appreciated final kiss.

They shared a brief moment of scorching eye contact and baited breath before Thomas reluctantly pulled back and went to begin sorting the pile of clothes.

'Everything alright?' Said Thomas when a harried looking Frank joined them in the room a few minutes later.

Thomas and Jimmy made a show of putting the finishing touches to their outfits on opposite sides of the room as Frank began to speak (although they couldn't quite resist sharing a secret grimace and grin when Frank settled himself down into the wooden chair).

'I'm to offer apologies for disturbing you early.' Said Frank, briefly removing his chauffeur's cap to run his hand anxiously through his hair. 'But I've been instructed to bring you back to Downton immediately.'

'What's happened?' Said Jimmy curiously.

Frank glanced at him and Thomas. Seeing that they were both very nearly ready to leave he immediately jumped up out of the chair.

'It's best I tell you on the way.' He said gingerly. 'Now come on, we need to go. Lord Grantham's waiting.'


	19. Our Interest - Chapter 19

**Our Interest – Chapter 19**

It was not the moment to laugh.

But Thomas really really wanted to laugh.

He suspected Jimmy did as well, but Thomas was too focused on keeping a straight face to risk a sideways glance to check.

'Is this...Are you serious?' Thomas said, partly to distract himself from the urge to giggle.

'Oh yes, because this is precisely the sort of thing we'd joke about.' Replied O'Brien dully, earning herself dark looks from the other staff, who stood in a line facing Thomas and Jimmy in the servant's hall.

Bates and Anna stood side by side, almost holding hands and looking quite worried. Alfred was his usual awkward stoic self, but had his head inclined a little towards Ivy, who looked as though she had been crying her eyes out. Molesley was doing his usual spot-on impression of a man who has absolutely no idea what is going on and the two Hall Boys, Brett and Lee, stood at the end of the line looking bored.

'Seriously?' Thomas repeated, ignoring O'Brien, doing his level best to keep the merriment out of his voice.

'I'm afraid so, Mr Barrow.' Said Bates grimly.

Thomas swept his gaze along the line of staff in front of him, spying Jimmy's shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter out of the corner of his eye, counting those who were absent rather than present.

'All of them...?' He said incredulously.

'It started shortly after Breakfast this morning.' Said Anna. 'Daisy was the first to feel poorly, and within the hour the rest developed it too. We...' She indicated herself, Bates, Molesley and O'Brien. '...were already upstairs tending to the morning routine when the scrambled eggs were brought out...' Ivy gave a noticeable sob.

'Right...' Thomas felt his own shoulders give a shake and he suppressed a snort. 'The eggs.'

'We did them the same way we always do!' Ivy blurted out. 'I don't know what happened. I _swear _it was nothing I did!'

'Alright, alright!' Thomas said quickly, raising a hand to silence the imminent hysterics. 'So let me check I have this right; at the moment we have Mrs Hughes, Mr Carson, Mrs Patmore, Daisy, Gill and all the other maids laid up sick?'

The others nodded.

Jimmy also bowed his head, losing the battle against the grin that threatened to break across his face.

'Mrs Patmore and Daisy were eating in the servants hall because of the extra spaces as the rest of us were up dressing the family...' Said Bates. 'I believe Ivy and the Hall Boys were busy in the kitchens.'

'What about Alfred?' Said Thomas. He kicked himself as soon as the words left his mouth as Alfred turned beetroot red and glanced involuntarily towards Ivy, confirming Thomas's suspicions that he had skipped the helping of scrambled eggs to take advantage of Mrs Patmore's and Daisy's absence from the kitchen... 'Well thank goodness anyway.' Thomas quickly continued. 'Were definitely going to need you.'

There were more than a few quizzical looks at that, but Thomas had stopped paying attention to the people around him. He stepped back, somehow avoiding the suitcases that he and Jimmy had set down near the doorway when they entered, and raised a hand to scratch absently behind his ear as he pondered the situation at hand.

No maids, no cook, no housekeeper or butler...the whole family still to look after and an event the next day.

'Wait!' Said Thomas, briefly acknowledged the others again to ask. 'Why were you all dressing the family so early?'

'His Lordship wanted the family ready to receive Mr Gregson in the drawing room on his arrival.' Said Bates.

_Ah, of course…trying to make a bit more effort there, aren't we…_

Thomas gave his head a little shake.

_Task at hand, Thomas, task at hand!_

The pieces began to fall into place in his head and within a few moments he had formed the rudiments of a plan.

He cleared his throat before speaking.

'Right…Alfred, you're now in charge of the kitchen.' He did allow himself a moment to admire the spectacular bulging of Alfred's eyeballs at that particular bit of news. 'You, Ivy, Brett and Lee; get in there and throw out the rest of those eggs and anything that's been anywhere near them. Then scrub everything down. Sort out a cold meat luncheon for the family and Mr Gregson...Get Frank to drive you into Thirsk to get supplies if you need them. We'll talk later about getting in things in for the refreshments for the hospital benefit tomorrow…'

Alfred's stunned silence enabled O'Brien to begin to object vigorously; ostensibly on his behalf.

'Alfred is _First Footman_, not a cook. And His Lordship won't be wanting to go ahead with the event tomorrow, not without Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes…' She said, looking pointedly down her nose at Thomas.

'_His Lordship_…' Bates interjected steadily. '…wants to discuss the matter with Mr Barrow.'

'But how am I supposed to…' Alfred began, finally finding his voice, only to be ignored and immediately cut off by Thomas.

'Jimmy…I mean, James, you go get your uniform on. You'll be greeting Mr Gregson on the door and getting him settled in, but I've got other tasks for you later, so I'm going to need…' Thomas turned to Bates and Anna. '…Mr Bates to Valet for all the men…'

'_All_ the men?' Molesley repeated with a nervous laugh.

'Yes, all.' Said Thomas. 'Anyway…' He turned his attention to Anna directly. 'Anna will help Mr Bates with any fetching, carrying, mending or suchlike and she will look after all the ladies.'

'I beg your pardon?' Said Miss O'Brien.

Thomas continued. 'Miss O'Brien and Mr Molesley will look after the women and men who are laid up sick.'

'I am the _senior_ Lady's Maid!' Said O'Brien indignantly.

'And Mr Crawley is very particular…' Said Mr Molesley.

'Yes...' Said Thomas, declining to call Mr Molesley out on his barefaced lie. '…but I can trust Mr and Mrs Bates to work as a _team_.' Said Thomas simply, and finally. 'You'll find buckets in the shed and take as much spare linen as you need from the attic stores.' He added, allowing a hint of smugness to cross his expression as he met O'Brien's eyes.

Thomas could see her calculating potential grounds on which to challenge his instructions, and the likely outcome of such protests. He could pinpoint the exact moment that the words 'Under Butler' crossed her mind, and the resulting deflation in her bravado.

'Right…' Said Thomas, his mind still racing through the issues thrown up by the understaffing. 'I'd best get along and see His Lordship. I understand he's been waiting since…'

The sound of footsteps on the stairs had everyone peering round the doorway.

Thomas recognised Dr Clarkson as his feet came into view through the banisters. 'Doctor Clarkson.' He said, and moved to the bottom of the stairs to greet him.

Jimmy's blood suddenly ran cold.

'Thomas, wait!' Jimmy hissed urgently, but Thomas was already out of hearing range.

He followed Thomas out into the corridor, unwittingly prompting the other staff to do the same.

Dr Clarkson looked up as he descended the final few steps to see the assembled group of servants waiting for him. His expression was already somewhat grim at having had to work his way through assessing so many patients in one morning and Jimmy alone saw the hardening behind Clarkson's eyes when he recognised Thomas at the head of the group. He also noticed Clarkson's eyes flit over towards himself for a split second.

_Please…don't…_

Jimmy pleaded silently with every fibre of his being.

'How are the patients Dr Clarkson?' Said Thomas.

Clarkson held his gaze for a little too long for comfort before replying, prompting Thomas to assume he was somewhat fatigued from the morning's work.

Jimmy began to panic, recognising (as he had feared) that the explanation offered by Robert and Matthew on his and Thomas's behalf had fallen short of exonerating Thomas in the Doctor's eyes.

'Now…' Began Dr Clarkson eventually, ignoring Thomas to address the group. '…I haven't yet finished examining all the patients, but I thought I should come and confirm that this does indeed seem to be food poisoning rather than anything more sinister. I won't deny they are having an unpleasant time of it. But I don't see any signs of danger. Provided every effort is made to keep them hydrated and comfortable, I see no reason why they shouldn't pull through in three or four days at most. There are signs which should be watched for however…'

'Well Miss O'Brien and Mr Molesley will be looking after them…' Thomas broke in. 'So perhaps you would take them through these signs…'

'The nurse upstairs will see to that when I leave.' Said Clarkson brusquely, still avoiding addressing Thomas directly. 'Now, I should be getting back to see the last two as I will need to confer with Lord Grantham this afternoon about the benefit tomorrow. If you will excuse me…'

'You don't need to have any concerns on that account, Dr Clarkson.' Said Thomas. 'I have a plan which should enable us to proceed with less staff, rejigging who we've got and bringing in some extras. I'm just about to see Lord Grantham about it myself, but I can go over it with you this afternoon if you wish.' Thomas offered brightly. 'I'm not saying it'd be perfect, but I think we could put on an adequate show, make it decent…'

Clarkson finally turned towards him, acknowledging his presence for the first time.

'What would _you_ know of decency?'

'What do you mean?' Thomas asked, intensely thrown by Clarkson's response.

Jimmy closed his eyes, desperately willing the situation to dissipate.

'I think you know very well what I mean.' Said Clarkson levelly.

All the optimism in the world couldn't have allowed Thomas to mistake the implication behind the tone of the Doctor's voice.

Thomas heard Alfred draw in a sharp breath behind him and turned briefly back to look at him, noting his discomfort and catching sight of Jimmy's pained expression in the process. The other staff mostly just looked confused.

'No…' Said Thomas slowly as he turned back to Clarkson. 'I'm not sure that I do, Dr Clarkson.' He said unflinchingly.

Clarkson stared darkly at him in silence before giving a dismissive shake of his head as he began to make his way back up the stairs.

He paused after only taking a few steps.

'You know, I've had some time to think about this Mr Barrow…' He said in a deceptively level voice, pivoting to look back at Thomas. '…and I wonder if perhaps, all things considered, it was for the best that Lieutenant Courtenay was placed beyond your reach.'

He turned and continued on his way.


	20. Our Interest - Chapter 20

**Our Interest – Chapter 20**

Amid a wave of denial, every lick of happiness and confidence drained from Thomas's body.

He watched, debilitated into silence, as Clarkson's back disappeared up the stairs.

Every muscle in his face disengaged, leaving a blank mask to overly his swelling inner tumult; the assembled onlookers at his back completely forgotten.

Memories of the deep desolation he experienced the day that Edward's actions had necessitated stripping blood soaked sheets from an empty hospital bed and penning a standard letter of condolence to a family, a family that may not have deserved it, had a biting chill and a crippling numbness spreading throughout his limbs.

As he felt the floor (or rather, his knees) threaten to give way, Thomas found himself moving automatically to grip the nearest solid object.

It was the banister.

He halted his hand inches away from the wood surface; his misery suddenly immeasurably compounded by the realisation that the one person who had appreciated Edward as he had was _also_ very much beyond his reach. And in that moment, there was nobody else.

His jaw opened a little, giving substance to an otherwise silent and phantomlike sob.

'Mr Barrow…?'

It was Bates. Bates was behind him.

Thomas suddenly remembered that the others were as well.

Silently, gently, and quickly he sidestepped the banisters and headed off to the back door.

The others watched him go in awkward confusion.

'Does anyone know who Lieutenant Courtenay is?' Said Anna gingerly, glancing round searchingly at the faces of the group as several others did the same. Not Jimmy though, he simply stared at the back-door as it closed behind Thomas.

'I don't know…' Said Alfred with a grimace.

'Nor I.' Admitted Bates. 'Miss O'Brien?' He said pointedly, looking firmly in her direction with an expression that cautioned her against letting her personal enmity towards Thomas influence her answer.

But she honestly shook her head, seeming just as confused as the rest. 'No. I don't.'

Jimmy barely registered the conversation going on to his side, but as the prickly feeling of being watched crept up his neck he turned towards the others; finding every pair of eyes suddenly fixed quizzically on him.

'James, do you know who he is?' Said Anna softly.

'No.' Jimmy shook his head vigorously, as much to snap himself out of his pensive mood as to answer the question. 'No idea.' He said slowly.

He returned his gaze to the back-door.

'Right!' Bates suddenly barked out. 'Well we all know what it is we are supposed to be doing, so…' He indicated for the group to disperse with a twist of his hand.

O'Brien shot him a look that could have felled a giant sequoia, but did begin to make her way up the stairs, closely tailed by Molesley.

Alfred headed off in the direction of the kitchens, still caught somewhere between shock and terror at the prospect, turning round a few times in surprise at the sight of the small troupe composed of Ivy, Brett and Lee who fell into step behind him.

Jimmy found himself left alone with Anna and Bates.

The three of them lingered for a few moments in tense stasis.

'Don't you know what you should be doing James?' Said Bates levelly.

Jimmy snapped himself back to the present, having become once again mesmerised by the back-door that Thomas had vanished through. 'Course.' He said quietly, and went to mount the staircase to go and change into his livery.

He was abruptly halted by a firm hand on his chest as he went to pass Bates.

'You can't be serious.' Said Bates.

Jimmy looked warily at Bates (who didn't remove his hand) and then Anna behind him, who indicated towards the direction Thomas had taken with a flick of her eyes.

'Think he wants to be alone…' Said Jimmy hoarsely.

The accusatory expressions on the faces of Bates and Anna didn't change, nor did the restraining hand drop from his chest.

'Alright…alright…' Jimmy nodded shakily and took a step back before turning in the direction of the back-door.

Anna and Bates exchanged a glance once Jimmy was out of sight.

'Well there's something not right there.' Said Bates. Anna nodded in slightly bewildered agreement before the two of them parted ways to go about their business.

Jimmy found Thomas sitting hunched over on the step by the tool shed, the anguish behind his relatively restrained tears betrayed by the violent shuddering of his shoulders.

His own face crumpled at the sight of him, and he quickly crossed the yard to sit by him, curling an arm around Thomas's shoulders to draw him in.

Jimmy rocked the two of them slightly as Thomas turned his head into his chest, his breathing and sobbing gradually calmed by the steady heartbeat contained within.

'Why didn't you warn me.' Thomas said miserably. 'About Clarkson.'

Jimmy bit his lip and gave a lengthy exhale before replying, speaking into Thomas's hair as he tilted his own head downwards a little.

'I didn't know there was anything to warn about.' He said. 'He made a scene a few weeks ago, but that was when he thought….' Jimmy gave a cough, and decided to leave that particular sentence hanging. 'But Lord Grantham said he was going to talk to him and explain everything, so I thought…'

'Weeks ago…' Thomas said dully. He extracted himself from Jimmy's chest. 'So when I asked you how things were going, and you said that everything was 'fine'…' The pitch of Thomas's voice began to rise. '…and that there was 'no cause for alarm'...' Thomas shook his head angrily. 'Is there anything else you haven't told me?'

'You were _starving_ yourself, I had more important things to bloody worry about!' Jimmy hissed at him. 'And that's not why you're out here crying is it?'

Jimmy mentally kicked himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth, having been nursing the ardent wish to avoid addressing the issue of 'Lieutenant Courtenay'.

Thomas deflated almost immediately at his words. 'No. You're right.' He said slowly. 'I'm sorry for having a go…I know you've had a lot on your mind…' He continued, his voice trailing off. 'You're good to me.' He said, smiling weakly at Jimmy.

Jimmy smiled back and gave Thomas's shoulder a reassuring rub.

Thomas reached up a hand to guide Jimmy's arm away from his shoulders, pulling it down into his lap and entwining their fingers (for once without a careful glance around the surrounding area).

'Lieutenant Courtenay…Edward…was a soldier that I…'

'No.' Jimmy cut in, his fingers tensing noticeably against Thomas's. 'You don't need to do that. You don't have to explain.'

_I don't WANT you to explain..._

'What?' Thomas searched his face carefully, his expression suddenly unreadable.

'I don't need to know what's happened in the past.' Said Jimmy with a slight grimace. 'It doesn't matter now. Just forget about it, eh?'

The flash of disappointment and anger that crossed Thomas's expression was impossible to miss, but it quickly subsided.

'It's not what you're thinking Jimmy.' Said Thomas slowly.

'It's in the past. The past doesn't matter…does it?' Said Jimmy, attempting a more jovial tone which fell completely flat.

Thomas let go of his hand.

'Go away Jimmy.' Said Thomas gently.

Jimmy complied, feeling uncomfortably certain that he had somehow managed to say the wrong thing and wishing he had simply pushed past Bates to let Thomas cry it out on his own.

That had always worked just fine for him, at any rate.


	21. Our Interest - Chapter 21

**Our Interest – Chapter 21**

Thomas peeled himself up off of the step in the yard a good ten minutes later, as long as he dared given that he was painfully aware that Lord Grantham had technically been waiting to see him since sending the chauffeur early that morning.

He debated the merits of either rushing upstairs to change into his uniform, then rushing to find Robert, or just taking a slow walk to go and meet him and simply apologising for his attire.

He decided on the latter; plodding more than walking towards the library (where, given the time and situation, he presumed Lord Grantham would be) initially in a manner more befitting a farm boy than an elite man-servant, but quickly straightening and strengthening his posture as he left the Spartan blandness of the servant's domain and entered the 'family' rooms of the house.

He went around to the side door of the library rather than going round to the open archway into the hall (although he did briefly glance around to check that Jimmy had taken position by the front door to wait for Gregson's arrival, giving him the briefest nod of acknowledgement as he did so) and allowed himself a few deep breaths to cement his composure before knocking. As expected, Robert's voice called for him to enter.

Thomas stepped slowly into the room.

He found Robert alone, agitated, bookless and paperless despite his solitude, and Thomas felt a twinge of guilt at having kept him waiting. He presumed that the others were waiting in the drawing room for Gregson's arrival, which was getting on for being overdue. Despite everything, Thomas found himself musing on Gregson's stupidity in pushing his luck with the family given the already highly tenuous state of affairs between them.

'Lordship.' He greeted, and gave a small brisk bow.

'Mr Barrow…' Said Robert, standing up a little nervously from the sofa as Thomas entered.

A brief, highly awkward, look was exchanged between the two of them, during which they silently came to a concord that they would both prefer to skip over the usual etiquette regarding 'how one's trip went' and 'apologies for disturbing you early'.

Robert coughed briskly. 'I trust you are aware of the situation, Mr Barrow.'

'Yes, My Lord.'

'Now, I don't doubt for one moment your ability to take charge of the running of things in the absence of Mr Carson…' Said Robert gingerly. '…but with so many members of staff currently unable to work, I wanted the chance to confer with you about the benefit tomorrow, about whether or not you think it wise or indeed possible to proceed, before I speak to Dr Clarkson about it.'

'Clarkson…' Thomas repeated slowly, his mouth hanging open, on the verge of producing words for a few moments, but eventually he was forced to close it again; unable to think of quite what to say.

'Yes, Dr Clarkson.' Said Robert. 'So…do you think it can be done? I trust you were part of some of the planning that has taken place in the past week?'

'I was, yes.' Said Thomas softly, his mind still lingering elsewhere until a concerned look from Robert prompted him to get a better hold of himself. 'Right…yes….' He forced his mind to co-operate and function at the same level it had done earlier in the servant's hall upon his arrival. 'So…I've set James on the front door to wait for Mr Gregson, Mr Bates will be handling gentleman's Valet duties, Anna the ladies, Miss O'Brien and Mr Molesley are looking after the sick, Alfred's taken over the kitchen with Ivy…'

'Alfred?' Interjected Robert, looking intensely confused.

Thomas nodded. 'I'd propose we send word to ask Mrs Crawley if we can borrow her cook for tomorrow, but I think Alfred can handle the preparation and re-ordering today as well as the normal dinner service.'

'You have placed a _Footman_ in charge of the kitchen?'

'Yes, My Lord.' Thomas bit his lip. 'And further to that, I plan to ask the two Gardeners and possibly the Chauffeur to stand in for Mr Carson, Mr Molesley and Alfred during the buffet tomorrow. James can give them basic pointers this evening, and we will all work to alter the uniforms for them tonight...'

'The _Gardeners_!' Said Robert, more incredulous than indignant.

'If we put them on cloakroom duties or have them manning the buffet tables rather than walking round with the drinks, I don't think it will be a problem.' Said Thomas, wincing a little internally. 'It would save the cost of getting in two more men at such short notice, and there's no guarantee we could get them in time…and…' Thomas winced outwardly that time. '…Mr Molesley's serving technique has always left a bit to be desired anyway. I can't imagine the Gardeners would do worse.'

'Wouldn't the Hall Boys be a better choice…?' Said Robert gently, suddenly sounding as though reasoning with a misguided youth.

Thomas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 'Too young, My Lord, I doubt we could alter the uniforms well enough for them and they're _really_ not ready to be trusted with something like this. I'd much rather take a chance on a steady man than on flighty children.'

Robert nodded slowly, still looking a little dubious, but nodding. 'Am I to take it that you believe we should go ahead as planned, Mr Barrow?'

'I'd propose one other change, My Lord. I think we should confine the event to the ground floor, have the buffet through the back of the hall, the main reception in the hall itself and the talk in here in the library rather than in the upstairs day room as planned…But otherwise, yes. I think we should.' Said Thomas, raising his chin a little, unconsciously emulating the means by which Carson frequently stamped his aura of authority and control over his dealings with Lord Grantham.

Robert noticed, and despite his trepidation found himself suppressing a smile. 'Well, I know my mother will like that particular idea very much!' He said warmly. 'Will…' He paused to briefly shake his head in disbelief at the words he was about to utter. '…Alfred be ready to provide luncheon once Mr Gregson is settled?'

Thomas grinned. Improper, he knew, but he couldn't help himself. 'I believe so. I told him that a cold meat luncheon would suffice, given that it will be necessary to spend a while putting the kitchen back to rights after what happened at breakfast.'

'Very good.' Said Robert, returning a far more restrained and subtle version of Thomas's inappropriate grin. 'I think that's all for now…' He said, looking towards Thomas to give him permission to depart.

The mirth of the moment immediately dissipated as the issue of Clarkson suddenly reasserted itself in his mind.

Thomas found himself rooted to the spot, and was immediately the recipient of a wary look from Robert.

'There's just…one thing…' Thomas began to attempt to explain.

'Yes?'

Whether through crushing bad luck or fortuitous accident, Dr Clarkson chose that moment to stride purposefully through the open archway at the front of the library.

'Ah, Dr Clarkson!' Robert greeted him warmly, his demeanor much improved by Thomas's apparent grasp of the staffing issues. He was unaware that Thomas himself was standing uncomfortably behind him, suddenly feeling as though he had been punched in the gut.

The look Clarkson shot Thomas upon recognising him endeavored to do however much more damage was possible on top of the obvious discomfort inspired by his arrival.

Robert spent one more moment in blissful ignorance as he spoke enthusiastically to Clarkson.

'It would appear we can go ahead as planned for tomorrow, Dr Clarkson. Mr Barrow will see to the arrangements. Now if you could give me an update on the patients…'

'Lord Grantham.' Clarkson vigorously cut in. 'I must tell you that I am not comfortable with this…' He swept his gaze over Thomas. '…last minute alteration. I believe we should move the event to village hall.'

Thomas swallowed uncomfortably as Robert replied in confusion. 'But we have already discussed that the hall is not large enough for the numbers expected and it's far too late to effectively notify people of a change of venue, I don't see why…'

Robert suddenly caught the dark look, that Thomas was avoiding by looking down at the floor, that Clarkson was shooting in Thomas's direction.

'Good God man.' Said Robert to Clarkson. 'You can't be serious.'

Clarkson responded with a small twist of his head, his jaw line noticeably hardening.

'Dr Clarkson…' Robert began slowly, glancing over his shoulder at Thomas, unhappy at his being present at such a moment. '…I was under the impression we had _discussed _this matter.'

'And _I_ was under the impression that you understood that my agreeing to not publicise the issue did _not_ constitute a denial of the laws of God and man!' Clarkson snapped back.

'Should I just…' Thomas began, taking a step backwards to leave.

'Perhaps that would be for the best, Mr Barrow.' Said Robert levelly, barely glancing at Thomas a second time amid his rapidly rising anger, his eyes fixed on Clarkson.

Thomas took a few more steps backwards, but suddenly found himself unwilling to leave. Although, having the option to do so was something of a comfort.

'I fail to see how you could possibly argue that Mr Barrows…personal preferences…impact on his admirable work ethic and ability.' Said Robert heatedly.

'The man is a criminal!' Clarkson all but shouted back.

'Just because a man has been imprisoned, does not make him a criminal.' Said Robert levelly.

Even in the midst of one of the most awkward moments of his life, Thomas still found time to cast his eyes heavenwards at Robert's ability to bring Bates in at every possible opportunity.

'You know the time in prison itself is not where my objections lie!' Clarkson responded angrily. 'It is the _principle_ of the thing…' In his anger Clarkson did not notice the way both Robert and Thomas's eyes widened as Cora appeared behind him. '…I will not accept Mr Barrow's input into this event and I cannot begin to understand why you keep him on staff!'

'Dr Clarkson!' Cora's crisp and reproachful tones had him spinning on his heel in astonishment, almost dropping the bag in his hand as he did so.

'Lady Cora…' His manner of address instantly became more cordial, but was still firm. '…I must say…'

'No, Dr Clarkson, _I_ must say…' Cora said rapidly. 'I shouldn't need to remind you that Mr Barrow rendered excellent service on behalf of both of us in managing Downton during the war. He has been a valuable member of our household for near ten years. Now, I won't presume upon the reasons for your skepticism…' She cast a look across to Robert to indicate that she intended, nevertheless, to be enlightened. 'But I am sure Mr Barrow can manage so small a matter as a fundraiser for the benefit of the hospital…and yourself, as a beneficiary of our continued good will and patronage. And furthermore I would caution you against questioning the judgment of our household when it comes to our staffing community.' She added sternly, her tone and expression leaving no room for disagreement. Her blue eyes piercingly cautionary and fixed entirely on Clarkson's uncomfortably twitching face for the entire minute it took before Robert spoke to cut into the dark atmosphere.

'I trust that will be all, Dr Clarkson.' He said.

'I think it will.' Said Clarkson suddenly hesitant and unconfident. 'I will…see you tomorrow and…check on the patients early in the morning before…yes.' He stepped quickly out of the room without a backwards glance.

Thomas let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

'I'll be going now, My Lord, shall I?' He said.

Robert nodded. 'Yes, thank you…' He said, putting too much emphasis on the kindness in his tone to sound natural. '…Mr Barrow.'

Thomas made a hasty exit into the hallway, catching sight of Dr Clarkson storming past Jimmy at the front door as he did so.

In the library, Cora turned her full (and still disgruntled) attention towards Robert.

'You know, you _should_ have had him apologise.' She said as she walked towards him.

'It was best not to press the issue.' Said Robert with a wry raise of an eyebrow as he sank wearily back down onto the sofa.

'What issue, Robert?' Said Cora, standing over him. 'And don't even _think _about fobbing me off this time.'


	22. Our Interest - Chapter 22

**Our Interest – Chapter 22**

As he went to turn away, Thomas noticed Jimmy motioning him over vigorously from his perch by the front door.

Thomas strode over to him, his footfalls heavier than usual on the floor.

Jimmy waited until Thomas was well into his personal space before whispering to him. 'What are we going to do?'

Thomas gave a bitter snort. 'You mean about what just happened in the library, or what happened in the yard?' He said.

Jimmy motioned urgently with his hand for Thomas to keep his voice down. 'No…I don't mean…' Jimmy sighed and briefly glanced down at the floor before meeting Thomas's eyes. '_Later_, ok?' He said, looking earnestly up at Thomas's denigrating expression. Thomas gave a tiny nod of agreement, fighting the urge to shake his head at Jimmy in ill-humored judgment.

'What is it then?' Said Thomas in a low voice.

Jimmy tilted his head a little to draw Thomas's gaze down the hallway. Thomas noticed with surprise that Edith was sitting towards the end of the hall, her peachy colored gown blending in with the embroidered creamy upholstery to a rather alarming degree. She stared dully at the wall ahead of her, sideways on to Thomas and Jimmy.

Jimmy leaned right in to Thomas's ear. 'I read the list on Mr Carson's desk before I came up here…Gregson was meant to be here over an hour ago.'

Thomas did his best to not be distracted by the warm breath playing over his cheek, or the accidental and torturously brief brush of Jimmy's bottom lip against his ear. He pulled away from Jimmy a little shakily. 'Well…what do you expect me to do about it?' He whispered back.

'Maybe talk to her.' Said Jimmy, as though arriving at the conclusion that that was what was required had caused him deep internal pain.

'And you can't because…?'

Jimmy leaned in to Thomas's ear again, this time Thomas was almost certain the brush of lips against his skin was deliberate. 'Apparently, I have no talent for consolation.' Jimmy said softly, all but placing a kiss on the shell of Thomas's ear.

Thomas stepped back, further this time, and made a mental note to add '_that'_ to their '_later'_ discussion.

But in the meantime, there were more pressing matters.

'Alright. You can head off for now. I'm going to need you to serve at lunch…whenever that might be.' Said Thomas with a glance over his shoulder at Edith. 'But first I need you to run out to the gardens and ask Clarence and his man…Victor, I think is the name…to join us in the servant's hall after about two o'clock in the afternoon. I'm afraid I can't pretend to know where you'll find them at this time of day. Tell them it will take a while. Maybe bribe them with cake or something…but make sure you let Alfred know if you do!' Thomas said, giving a small grin.

The thought of Alfred in the kitchen, it would seem, was something able to inspire instant merriment whatever the situation.

'I'll stay here and…' Thomas grimaced again as he looked back to Edith, whose head seemed to be becoming too heavy for her neck. '…deal with this.' He said grimly.

'Yes, Mr Barrow.' Said Jimmy, giving a bob that was more akin to a curtsey than a bow in his eagerness to get away.

Thomas lingered by the doorway for a moment longer, steeling himself before making the long walk down the hall to Edith. She looked up as he approached.

He tried not to let the moment when he realised she was crying show on his face. But he did check to see if she had a handkerchief in her hands before allowing his mind to disregard that realisation entirely.

'My Lady.' He said, giving a deep bow, deciding a little masculine chivalry wouldn't go amiss under the circumstances (while realising that the gesture lost some of it's panache due to his lack of uniform).

'Thomas.' She acknowledged, her voice unsteady and pained. Thomas decided that now wasn't the moment to assert the issue of 'Mr Barrow'. 'Thomas he's made a fool of me.' She choked out, clearly desperate to speak to _somebody_ (that she wasn't related to), the pitch of her voice rising into an imperceptible squeal of distress as she spoke. 'Here I am…waiting. And…' She held up a hand to weakly indicate the otherwise empty hallway, the ability to speak temporarily fleeing from her. 'After every effort that we have made to get to this point…' She continued miserably.

Thomas crouched down in front of her to get closer, conscious of the need to keep his voice down as Robert and Cora were still in the library and that it was the relatively more proper option compared to taking the seat next to her.

'What if I were to tell them that he telephoned to say that he's had important business come up. And that's why he's not come.' Thomas said carefully, aware he was stepping far over the line of acceptable. He lowered his voice further as he concluded. 'They won't suspect if it's me that says it. Then you would have some time to find out…what's really happened.'

Through her tears Edith gave a silvery laugh, looking down at Thomas in surprised disbelief.

'That's…' Her voice briefly gave out, but she brought it back with a small and determined cough. 'That's a very clever thought.' She laughed again, coming to a halt with a sob. 'I appreciate your suggestion, Thomas.' She said, holding his gaze. 'But they will think ill of him whatever the excuse, so I might as well admit he hasn't given one.'

Thomas nodded and rose up from his position on the floor in front of her. 'Would you like me to continue to wait by the door, Lady Edith?'

'No…I suppose not.' She gave a doleful sigh. 'I shall go and talk to Papa.'

Thomas nodded again. 'For what it's worth, My Lady, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. He's yours, not theirs.'

'That's the problem.' Said Edith with a sniff. 'I don't know that he _is_ mine.'

'I think sometimes…' Thomas said quietly. '…you have to give the benefit of the doubt to the people you love. Sometimes they don't realise that they hurt you.'

'Who do you love, Thomas?' She said with a weak and dreamy smile.

Thomas bowed his head and gave a breathless and nervous snigger before replying. 'That…infuriating and…beautiful creature that was standing by the front door.' He said, looking up at Edith through his lashes, all but certain that she wouldn't react badly under the circumstances, but still tense nonetheless.

She looked at him, then at the spot where Jimmy had been standing, then back to him.

'Oh my word…' She said, for the moment completely distracted from her own misery. 'Oh my word…Does anybody know? Does_ Papa_ know?' She said, utterly dumbfounded.

It gave Thomas immeasurable pleasure to be able to reply. 'He does, Lady Edith, and he's been very good about it.'

'That's good.' She said, with a hint of jealousy behind her smile that Thomas caught with a pang. 'I wish I could say the same.'

'Like I said, it doesn't matter what the others think for now. And wait until you know the truth before giving him up.' Said Thomas, giving her a reassuring smile. He excused himself with another bow.

As he made his way back down to the kitchens, it suddenly hit Thomas quite how improbable the conversation he had just had actually was. He shook his head in pleasant bewilderment as he continued on his way. He felt quite invincible.


	23. Our Interest - Chapter 23

**Our Interest – Chapter 23**

Thomas could hear Alfred from at least two flights of stairs away as he made his way back to the servant's hall after changing into his uniform.

As he neared the doorway to the kitchen Thomas paused for a moment to listen.

He couldn't make out all of what Alfred was saying (or loudly exclaiming) but caught various recognisible words and phrases such as 'fish', 'cutlets' and 'cat's tails'. Thomas first assumed Alfred must be talking about food (and was consequently slightly alarmed at the prospect of 'cat's tails') but quickly realised what was really happening; Alfred was absolutely _desperate_ to swear, but refusing to do so in front of Ivy, and was consequently reduced to re-purposing _other_ words to serve in the place of obscenities.

Thomas raised his eyebrows, mentally giving Alfred points for effort at maintaining control under pressure, but wincing slightly at his extreme lack of finesse in doing so.

Thomas did his best to control his grin as he stepped into the kitchen to marvel at the chaos therein.

Rags in hand, Alfred and Ivy were quickly working their way round cleaning the countertops, with a zeal more appropriate to an exorcism than a disinfection (due to Ivy's lingering terror that she had been somehow responsible for the outbreak of food poisoning, and Alfred's stubborn determination to avoid cocking up the task) while the Hall Boys worked in the store cupboard beyond, falling over one another repeatedly as they endeavored to clear out any potential perishables and contaminates.

'How's it going, Alfred?' Said Thomas, snorting through a completely involuntary attack of the giggles.

'How's it going!?' Alfred said indignantly, dragging himself into a standing position with a firm hand on the kitchen table.

In avoiding looking at Alfred's face, certain that the outraged expression there would set him off into another fit of laughter, Thomas glanced down. He couldn't help but marvel at the speed of Alfred's transformation from 'awkward footman' to '(apparently) seasoned kitchen master'; his jacket was off, his sleeves rolled up, a few well-placed pins holding one of the girl's aprons in place over his front, while his complexion had taken on a ruddy glow from the exertion that quite suited him. Thomas could honestly say that this was the first time he had ever looked at Alfred without the word 'gormless' springing to mind.

'HOW'S IT GOING!?' Alfred repeated. 'How's it bloody…' He stopped abruptly and shot an apologetic glance over to Ivy. Thomas could have sworn he saw Ivy roll her eyes and sigh in response as soon as Alfred's back was turned.

'It's not going well, Mr Barrow.' Said Alfred, dropping the rag in his hand down onto the table with a wet slap.

'How long until you will be ready to sort lunch?' Said Thomas, doing his best to at least pretend to keep things professional, desperately suppressing his amusement.

'We should be ready before they call.' Said Alfred grudgingly.

'Marvelous.' Said Thomas. 'It looks like Mr Gregson won't be joining the family, but that shouldn't make a difference to the serving amount.'

Alfred nodded in agreement, staring a little to the side of Thomas's shoulder, mentally cataloguing and calculating what needed to happen prior to the lunch service.

'And we'll talk about getting in supplies this afternoon…?' Said Thomas gingerly.

As expected, that query immediately got Alfred's blood back up.

Alfred spun almost full circle in his exasperation, giving a harried humph of annoyance.

'Do you know what I've got to deal with here, Mr Barrow!?' He said. 'All of that…' He indicated in the direction of the food being carried out by the Hall Boys to be thrown away. '…to replace. And these…' Alfred pulled a few ceramic pots off the shelf at Thomas's back. '…LOOK at these! Not a label on any one of them!' Alfred whipped the lid off one, bringing a pinch of the contents to his tongue for a taste. 'So this one's salt.' He did the same with the next pot. 'That's paprika. And this one…' He pulled another one off a different shelf, dipped a finger in and brought it to his lips. His face instantly twisted up into an expression of intense discomfort. 'This one ain't for eating!' He declared, holding the pot at arm's length. 'You _see_ what I have to deal with, Mr Barrow!?'

'I do indeed.' Said Thomas, now completely unable to maintain a straight face.

Alfred shot him a reproachful look, but it didn't take long for his face to crack into a smile.

The smile was short lived however, as the taste of the last powder that he had dabbed on his tongue suddenly had him overcome with the urge to spit (or worse).

As Alfred hunched forwards, trying to resist the impulse, Thomas found himself barged out of the way by Ivy, who quickly raised the rag in her hand to Alfred's mouth to allow him to spit out the excess saliva with a marginal bit of dignity.

'That's for the rats, not for you!' Said Ivy, taking the pot out of Alfred's hand as she allowed him to take the rag out of hers. There was more than a hint of affection in her teasing, enough so that Thomas declined to scold her for her disrespectful attitude.

He watched Ivy and Alfred carefully as she set the pot back on the shelf and Alfred completed wiping his mouth with the rag.

Alfred's face suddenly creased into a frown. 'Is this the one you were using on the floor?'

'Um…' Ivy gave an apologetic grimace as she took a step back.

'So, I'll just leave you two to it then!' Said Thomas brightly, making a hasty exit.


	24. Our Interest - Chapter 24

**Our Interest – Chapter 24**

The luncheon, served by Thomas and Jimmy, passed without incident (save for the conspicuous absence of a Mr Gregson, and the highly tentative and awkward skirting of that particular issue in conversation). Thomas made sure to compliment Alfred and Ivy on a job well done, although, in all honesty, he suspected even Lord Grantham would be able to cobble together some slices of ham and leafs of lettuce on a plate in a satisfactory manner (provided someone told him where everything was and walked him through every step of the process…). The real test would come that evening.

Conscripting the Gardeners to serve (or at least, stand around in uniform and _look_ as though they were serving) at the benefit proved to be far easier than Thomas had expected. The elder of the two, Clarence, practically teared up at the idea. Mumbling something about how his 'good old Mother' had always aspired to see him as a Footman, he agreed to the favor Thomas asked without so much as a moment's hesitation, although he did express misgivings about his coarse mannerisms. Thomas reassured him that Jimmy could provide basic pointers that afternoon and that he would be on hand during the day...and also informed him, in as diplomatic a way as possible, that he was practically guaranteed to make mistakes, and if he did, it wouldn't _really _matter. The younger of the two, Vincent it turned out, rather than Victor, required no special prompting and seemed content to silently follow Clarence's lead (as Thomas suspected he had spent most of his life doing so up till that point). He sent the two of them off to the uniform cupboard with Jimmy, silently mouthing a 'Good luck' at Jimmy when their backs were turned.

Sandwiches, eaten on the go, constituted all that the mobile staff had by way of lunch, so long was the list of tasks to be completed. While a thin soup, that Alfred did his best to make appetising with a plethora of flavorsome spices, was sent up to be offered round to the incapacitated.

When Thomas revisited Alfred later that afternoon, he was pleased to find that he had formulated a plan (with a few slight variations from Mrs Patmore's original menu, that Thomas and Alfred resolved to _never _tell her about) that seemed workable in terms of the buffet for the following day and dinner that evening. Without further ado, he had Frank drive Alfred into Thirsk to pick up the alarmingly long list of supplies required to re-stock the kitchen.

Nothing but the briefest updates from Anna or Bates were required to ensure that the family were being kept happy (and more importantly, well dressed) and while O'Brien and Molesley largely ignored him on their frequent and brief trips downstairs, Thomas was able to at least take their silence as a sign that no-one had died…which he counted as a plus.

As the evening began to draw near, Thomas, Jimmy, Anna and Bates pulled together in an impromptu sewing club to make the alterations to the livery for their two new 'Footmen' for the following day. For the most part, the four were too focused on their work for conversation. Jimmy remained deliberately vague when Thomas asked for specifics about how well the two Gardeners had responded to the finer points of their short-course in the art of serving posture and etiquette, but he _was_ able to reassure Thomas that the two men could indeed handle standing to attention without embarrassing themselves (or the household).

A pleasant, heady and beefy smell emanating from the kitchens (and a reduction in Alfred's makeshift curse words echoing down the corridor) indicated that dinner for the family was going according to plan.

When Jimmy found himself nominated to procure some much needed tea for the flagging seamstress and tailors, he absented himself from the table without complaint and headed to the kitchens.

He found both Alfred and Ivy facing away from him, Ivy stirring the large pot of stew while Alfred diced up more vegetables to go in it. Even in the brief moment Jimmy stood there unnoticed, Alfred's eyes strayed to Ivy so often that Jimmy found himself seriously fearing for Alfred's fingers.

Jimmy cleared his throat noisily to announce his presence.

'You're looking good, Alfred.' He said with a smile as Alfred turned towards him, an errant parsnip still clutched in his hand. Jimmy did his best to ignore the way that Ivy's eyes lit up as she turned and saw him.

'I know!' Said Alfred with a laugh, looking down at the rainbow of different colors and textures that were now present on his apron. 'What would Mr Carson say, eh?'

'Probably similar to what he'd say about having Gardeners in livery…'

Both men laughed.

'So…' Said Jimmy, slapping his hands against his sides. '…I've come to trouble you for some tea to take into the servant's hall.'

'Course.' Alfred responded. 'Ivy, could you please…' He began tentatively.

She gave a slightly wry smile in response and abandoned her post by the stew pot to fetch the necessary accoutrements.

Jimmy watched Alfred, watching her go.

Jimmy sighed deeply before giving a defeated shake of his head.

'I'd like to thank you, Alfred.' Said Jimmy. He made sure to speak loudly enough for Ivy to hear (the Hall Boys having been sent to make the upstairs fires ready for the evening) and noted with an internal smirk that her ears instantly pricked up as he began to speak.

'Why, what have I done?' Said Alfred, completely nonplussed.

'You've been very kind to Mr Barrow and myself. Our type of love isn't easy and the first few months of the relationship have been very hard. I can't begin to tell you what a comfort your friendship has been to me throughout.' The words were true enough (although the prose was flowery in a manner that didn't follow Jimmy's usual mannerism) for Alfred to take them at face value. And he began to. That is, until he and Jimmy were distracted by a confused noise from Ivy. Alfred looked towards her, alarmed, and completely stunned that Jimmy would be so careless as to speak on that matter when they might be overheard. Then Alfred looked Jimmy in the eye.

Alfred's confusion and panic dissipated immediately upon finding an expression of sincere magnanimity looking back at him.

'Something wrong, Ivy?' Said Jimmy easily.

'I…I don't…' She stuttered terribly. 'Pardon me for listening, but did you say that you and Mr Barrow are…?'

'We are walking out together, in a manner of speaking, yes.' Said Jimmy. 'I would have thought Alfred would have told you!' He said, shooting a surreptitious wink at Alfred who looked as bewildered and pleased as a child that had stumbled upon conclusive proof of the existence of Father Christmas.

'Oh…' Ivy briefly turned her attention back to the hot water she was pouring, after accidently overrunning the tea pot. But her attention was not diverted for long. 'But…How does that _work_?'

Jimmy couldn't resist having a bit of fun with her. 'That's a bit personal, isn't it!' He said, pretending to be scandalised.

'I didn't mean like that!' Said Ivy, suddenly blushing furiously.

'I know, I know!' Jimmy laughed, collecting the tea tray that Ivy had assembled and spiriting it out the door.

When the time for the family dinner came around, Thomas was intensely relieved that Alfred was able to provide it.

As he carried the stew upstairs, Jimmy in tow with the dumplings, Thomas mused that he was grateful that Alfred had chosen something that relied more on taste than presentation to impress. He suspected, from having watched the haphazard way in which Alfred had hacked up the meat, that delicate flourishes of decoration were not Alfred's strong point. But the stew _did_ smell absolutely delicious.

There was _one_ thing preying on his mind however.

'Jimmy…' He said as they drew near the dining room. '…did you notice Ivy giving us strange looks in the kitchen?'

'Yes…' Said Jimmy slowly. 'That's _probably _because I told her…'

Thomas didn't need to ask for further clarification.

'Oh, that's good.' Said Thomas as they turned into the corridor.

Jimmy blinked in surprise.

'Why?' He asked incredulously, having expected at least a minor reproach.

'Because this morning, I told Edith!' Said Thomas with a grin. 'And don't you _dare_ moan!'

They both did their best to suppress their laughter as they entered the dining room.


	25. Our Interest - Chapter 25

**Our Interest – Chapter 25**

The family had long gone to bed by the time the staff could even think about having a dinner of their own. Attending to extra family members had Anna and Bates drowning in clothing repairs and general maintenance (so much so that they had lingered far beyond the time they would have usually headed back to the tranquility of their home), Thomas had spent the time after dinner service singlehandedly going over the entire set of crockery and silverware for the next day, while Jimmy and the Hall Boys had been sent up to the library to set out the seats for the lecture (with _strict _instructions to keep the noise down).

Alfred was working away in the kitchen with Ivy to produce a miniature batch of 'test' canapés, to try to identify any potential issues that may arise while making them en masse the next day; these were simultaneously intended to serve as the staff dinner.

As midnight (and 'dinner') drew near, Jimmy and the Hall Boys had still not returned from their task.

With a weary sigh Thomas left the servant's hall to make the long journey upstairs, curious as to precisely how three people could draw out the process of setting out rows of chairs to quite such an alarming degree.

Almost all the lights were out in the main house and Thomas found his way down the main hall by instinct more than sight, staring up ahead at the lines of golden glow emanating out from behind the library doors.

He was pleased at being unable to hear anything from across the hallway (reasoning that if they were being that quiet, then the slumbering nobles on the floor above were unlikely to be disturbed) but he did pick up on the sound of talking as he approached…no chair scraping though. Or at least, not as much chair scraping as one would expect.

Thomas knew Brett and Lee well enough to know that where there was relative silence there was usually bugger all work occurring.

Which did somewhat beg the question of why Jimmy, as their superior, hadn't put a stop to their (presumed) lollygagging. Thomas's stomach gave a slight growl, just to remind him that there was food waiting in the kitchen and that he really really could use some. He was at a complete loss as to why Jimmy, Brett and Lee hadn't flown round the library at double speed in order to get back downstairs for some much needed dinner. He had been expecting them almost half an hour ago, and that was with what was _already _an overly generous time allocation.

Thomas crept the final part of his journey, coming to a stop just outside the closed door, breathing softly and lightly to listen in.

'How does a man get so…_wrong_?...'

Brett's dour accent rang out clear as a bell.

'I mean…it _is_ wrong, isn't it?'

'And then some.' Thomas heard Lee reply with a superficial snort of mirth.

'I mean…' Brett continued. '…what makes a man wake up one morning and think 'oh, I fancy getting ploughed like a woman today'?' He snorted with far more enthusiasm than Lee did. 'It's like…I don't know…like not being able to handle actually _being _a man and worshiping some other bloke's cock to make up for it.'

Thomas fell back a few inches before being stopped by the wall, his mouth falling gradually open.

Thomas knew Brett was to be considered 'hostile', that Jimmy _had_ told him. But for him, _a Hall Boy_, to express that hostility in such an audacious and venomous manner while speaking about a superior…that was unexpected.

_Nasty little bastard…_

Thomas straightened himself up, ready to wrench the door open and have a 'little' talk with the errant boy, making a mental note to give Jimmy a stern talking to later for having left the Hall Boys alone while he went off and did God knows what.

Then two realisations hit him.

First, with a jolt, Thomas realised that beyond the voices of the two Hall Boys (who were stood near the door) he could actually still hear other sounds in the background. They were the sounds of rustling carpet and soft thuds of wood on wood. The sound of somebody moving chairs. Thomas realised that Jimmy was _in_ the library. And not saying a word. Thomas wasn't quite sure whether pain or anger was the dominant emotion roused by that particular revelation, but it managed to root him to the spot for long enough for the second realisation to hit.

He realised that Brett's self-righteous orations sounded somewhat too practiced and confident to be dismissed as a rare event or an impulse of the moment (i.e. this wasn't the first time he had spoken to or about Jimmy in such a manner). Through his distress, Thomas nevertheless mentally added 'hiding yet more instances of excessive hate from me' to the list of things that he and Jimmy were going to be having a stern talk about later that night.

But the question remained, how to best deal with the present situation?

Thomas was torn between the ardent need to intervene on Jimmy's behalf and the desperate need to see what Jimmy had apparently been dealing with, silently and alone, presumably over the past weeks.

The absolute certainty that Jimmy wouldn't tell him the truth about that even if he asked outright had Thomas waiting outside the door, continuing to listen; hating every inch of himself for doing so.

'That's just disgusting.' He heard Lee reply to Brett's comment.

'And…' Brett spoke as though counting down a list with his fingers. '….illegal, amoral, damnable…' He snorted in derision again. 'But we're still stuck with _this_.' Thomas could only assume that one or both of them had indicated in Jimmy's direction. His heart gave a twinge of pain.

'It's pathetic!' Brett continued firmly. 'And yes, disgusting.' He added more quietly. His voice suddenly took on a muffled tone as he swung his head around to face away from Lee and the door. 'Lucky for you that Mr Barrow's one of your queer sort. If you'd have come begging at _my_ door you'd have had my fists to deal with and no mistake…'

Thomas sank a little further down the wall, now relying on it to keep him upright. Not listening to Brett so much as to the low sounds of steadily moving furniture in the background.

'…but then you'd probably like that, wouldn't you?'

Thomas closed his eyes and raised a hand to his mouth.

'Why should we have to tolerate the likes of you? Makes me _sick_ to be anywhere near you.'

A voice that sounded nothing like Jimmy whatsoever suddenly interjected from across the room. 'Well if you'd just HELP ME get these chairs out then we can all be on our bloody way.'

Outside the door, Thomas decided that he'd had enough too.

Setting his jaw, sharply inhaling, and drawing himself up to his full height, Thomas vigorously pushed open the door.

The look of surprise, closely followed by misplaced shame, on Jimmy's face as he recognised Thomas (and realised from his expression that he knew precisely what had been going on) almost put a crack in Thomas's composure. Almost. But not quite.

The abject terror of the Hall Boys, despite Brett's heroic efforts to maintain his bravado at Thomas's unexpected entrance, was gratifying but unsatisfactory.

Thomas wanted more.

A myriad of potential angles of attack ran through his mind; insults he could turn back on them, disquieting things he could tell them, things he could _do_ to scare them…

Then Thomas remembered where he was, and who he was, and a sort of hushed serenity enveloped his mind.

'I take it Brett has filled you in on the situation?' He said, temporarily ignoring Brett to address Lee.

Lee nodded.

'Right…' Thomas ran his tongue over the edges of his front teeth, absently nodding himself, as he got his thoughts in order.

'Brett.' Thomas said, his voice carefully measured and perfectly even. 'I owe you an apology.'

Brett rapidly slipped from poorly disguised alarm into confused incredulity. 'You do, do you?' He said dully. Lee glanced sideways at him with a look of complete disbelief at the tone of his voice. He _was_ speaking to the Under Butler after all.

'Yes.' Thomas continued. 'I owe you an apology because you saw something that you shouldn't have seen…that you shouldn't have had to see…and that was my fault. I was reckless and foolish and stupid to allow that to happen. And I _am_ sorry.' He paused for effect. Not entirely sure if Brett possessed the brain capacity to be able to appreciate the reasoning behind the apology, as an attempt to make amends for having exposed an unwilling young man to sexual activities of _any_ kind, Thomas nevertheless felt like he had to say it and despite the persistence of Brett's gormless expression, Thomas was glad that he had.

'So…' Thomas said with a smile that carried a dangerous edge. 'Now we come to the matter at hand.' He pointedly swept his eyes around the room, which was still very much in disarray. 'This room is not set up ready for tomorrow.' He said, as though any of those present in the library were unaware of that fact. 'Do you know what I see here?' Said Thomas to Brett and Lee, who responded with hesitant shakes of their heads. 'I see a Footman over there…' Thomas indicated Jimmy. 'Doing precisely what he's been told to do…But the job still isn't done.' Thomas gave an exaggerated frown. 'Why do you suppose that might be?' He said to the two Hall Boys, who both had the intelligence to remain silent and stare sheepishly down at their feet.

'I think…' Thomas said softly. '…that the two of you aren't doing your job. And that's very interesting to me, you see…' Thomas's voice became low and weighty. 'Because if I wanted to get you thrown out on your ear after what I've heard you say tonight, I probably wouldn't be able to. Even though you're vile, malicious and _ignorant_ beyond measure, I wouldn't be able to. Because it's not right to hold the opinions of others against them, especially if they're the result of _idiocy_…' Thomas mentally reproached himself for having veered a little off the path of the moral high ground, but was far too invested in the moment to be stopped. '…and I think there's some here that, deep down, think and feel just the way you do about me…' Thomas looked over at Jimmy. '…and him. So I probably wouldn't be able to sack you, not for being horrible excuses for human beings.'

Thomas took a deliberate step towards them.

'But you know what I _can_ sack you for?' He mimicked the manner in which Brett had rattled off the list of insults earlier. 'Disobedience, incompetence, laziness...And I'm going to...'

The heads of both Hall Boys suddenly snapped back up to attention, staring in shocked horror at Thomas. Thomas did feel a twinge of guilt for putting Lee through the same ringer as Brett, given he clearly wasn't quite such a blasted sort, but Thomas was sure that the lesson he intended to teach, if well learned, would stand Lee in good stead in the future.

'_If_…' Thomas continued, after keeping them hanging for a good long while. '...this room is not fully prepared within the next ten minutes.'

The flurry of activity which followed indicated that the message had been received.


	26. Our Interest - Chapter 26

**Our Interest – Chapter 26**

Thomas, Jimmy and the (now meekly soundless) Hall Boys made their way back to the servant's hall a short time later.

Their arrival coincided with the appearance of Alfred and Ivy, flustered and flour dusted, carrying selections of canapés on large cheeseboards out of the kitchen. If Thomas had been a few feet closer he would have been unable to resist lunging forwards to snag a morsel off one of the makeshift trays, having been waiting over ten hours for anything resembling food; along with the rest of the staff.

The staff assembled around the table with the bare minimum of ceremony and when the food finally hit the wood, they were all far too hungry to pay much attention to anything other than getting it into their stomachs as quickly as possible.

It took a tentative. 'So…this _will _do for tomorrow then?' From Alfred to elicit feedback, which at first was composed of little more than a chorus of satisfied mumbles and nods.

Gradually the comments became more explicit.

'I'd be surprised if you make it more than an hour in before running out of these!' Said Anna, nodding towards the crumbs that marked the place where a set of mini open-sandwiches had stood. 'The ones with the pâté and broccoli are going to go down _very_ well.'

'Whatever's inside this pastry is pretty close to heaven.' Jimmy chimed in, already scanning the table for another while holding aloft the remnants of the one he was currently munching through.

'Really, very very good.' Molesley mumbled from down the table.

O'Brien declined to comment, clearly still torn between resenting the indignity of Alfred being banished to the kitchen and the undeniable truth that his talents with food _were _well worthy of praise.

'These can be served with pride. Well done.' Said Bates with a reassuring smile.

'Well that's good…' Said Alfred, swaying a little in exhaustion on his feet, having already eaten his way through some of the less successful offerings that he and Ivy had been producing for the previous several hours. Ivy had lowered her chin to her chest and wrapped her arms around her front, huddling for comfort and warmth like a bird in her sleepy state.

'Two things…' Thomas began, earning himself slightly dubious looks from others around the table. '…firstly you need to make these smaller.' He indicated the remnants of the 'small' pie in his hand…which had already provided three mouthfuls and was about to make a fourth. 'Secondly, don't let Mrs Bird walk over you when she arrives tomorrow, because _you_ can really do this.' Thomas concluded, popping the final bit of pie into his mouth. Relaxed pleasantness returned to his fellow diners faces as Alfred beamed at the compliment. 'If you want to get off to bed you can.' Said Thomas. 'The Hall Boys will take care of cleaning up.'

Down the end of the table, Brett and Lee nodded vigorously.

'Thank you Mr Barrow, I'll be off then!' Said Ivy, suddenly animated in her intense relief. But she did settle down long enough to turn to question Alfred. 'Is that alright with you, Alfred?'

There it was. The pause.

The pause that the rest of the staff were well acquainted with.

The pause that always preceded any reply Alfred made to Ivy, as though each and every time he had to reassure himself that she was _actually_ speaking to him.

'Of course…' Alfred said, his voice becoming uncomfortably gruff. 'Thank you very much for your hard work today.'

With a small smile that was accompanied by a brief (to Alfred, eternal) shine in her eyes, Ivy turned and left.

Alfred waited, still standing, still swaying, until the sound of her footsteps vanished.

He flopped down heavily into a chair by the side of the table and raked his fingers (now sporting the odd blister and scald mark) through his hair (which had obtained a dense straw-like texture and completely lost it's parting) as he gave a loud groan.

'Problem, Alfred?' Said Thomas with a grin, fishing a cigarette out of the almost full pack in his pocket (astonished at the realisation he had gone almost the entire day without one).

'How the bollocks does Mrs Patmore do it…?' Said Alfred, his voice muffled by his hands.

Thomas raised his eyebrows in amusement.

Alfred suddenly sat up in panic. 'I am so sorry, I didn't mean to…' He said quickly, looking earnestly towards Anna (to Thomas's intense amusement, completely disregarding O'Brien's presence).

'That's quite alright, Alfred.' Said Anna teasingly, while Bates's shoulders quivered a little with suppressed laughter next to her. 'I think you'll find it takes more than that to shock me.'

'Well Alfred hasn't known you as long as most of the household.' Said O'Brien dryly, speaking up for the first time since they had all sat down to dinner, then turning her attention immediately back to the glass of water in front of her to make it clear she had no intention of engaging further.

An uncomfortable silence descended in the servant's hall.

'I'm absolutely knackered!' Alfred suddenly announced, eager to break his Aunt's spell. 'I say again, I have no idea how Mrs Patmore does this day in, day out. It's the most stressful, tiring…'

'You're…Loving…Every…Minute.' Thomas interrupted slowly, curling his lips lazily as he breathed out a mouthful of smoke.

Alfred snorted, his face creasing into an expression of pure sunshine as he gave a bashful nod. 'You could say that...'

Thomas chuckled through his nose and took another drag on his cigarette.

He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Jimmy was staring at him.

Thomas turned to Jimmy with a quizzical frown.

'Sorry!' Said Jimmy, as though snapping out of a deep reverie. 'It's just that you've got…' He raised his hand to the corner of Thomas's mouth before pulling back, triumphantly brandishing a slither of pie crust.

Taking the pie crust back from Jimmy's fingers, Thomas slowly put it into his mouth and contentedly extracted every last bit of taste from it with his tongue before turning to Alfred. 'I _told_ you that those things needed to be made smaller! You call that bite-sized!?' He laughed. Jimmy laughed too, unconsciously leaning closer to Thomas. Their arms brushed against one another.

'Well aren't you two cosy all of a sudden…?' O'Brien said, ensuring her dour drawl was just loud enough to demand the attention of everyone at the table, as she smiled at them in a parody of pleasantness.

A number of things happened simultaneously.

Anna and Alfred stared down at the table in exasperation; Molesley did the same, looking intensely awkward, while Brett and Lee stared down at the table in equally intense discomfort. Bates visibly riled up but Thomas held up a quick (and subtle) hand to still him before he could speak.

Thomas and Jimmy silently made eye contact with one another.

Both asking the same question.

_Do you want to?_

And giving the same answer.

_Yes._

To which Thomas added, with a barely perceptible raise of an eyebrow.

_Mind if I have a little fun…?_

Jimmy shook his head, somewhat distracted by the intoxicating fire that suddenly appeared behind Thomas's deceptively placid eyes.

Thomas shifted his attention towards O'Brien.

'Say again, Miss O'Brien?' He said.

O'Brien smiled her venomous thin-lipped smile, assuming that Thomas was hoping to cow her into silence by his direct confrontation. Of course, she would have none of _that_!

'I said…' She responded measuredly. '…that you two are awfully cosy all of a sudden.'

Thomas smiled back at her, raising his cigarette to his lips.

'That's probably because we're fucking.'

He inhaled leisurely on the cigarette.

Smiling into the ensuing silence.

There was a look of dumbfounded confusion on O'Brien's face as she tried to process not only what he had said, but also the relative _lack_ of reaction (save for the poorly concealed merriment on the faces of Anna and Bates) from anyone else seated around the table. Alfred's cheeks flushed bright red and Molesley and the Hall Boys looked even more awkward (if such a thing was possible)…but they _said_ nothing.

She couldn't begin to fathom the situation, staring round at the occupants of the table with a very unflattering expression of bewildered puzzlement and uncertainty on her face.

An expression which deepened each time she came back to Thomas's coolly amused face and Jimmy's mischievous smugness.

She was completely stumped, thrown, and gripped with the rising panic that comes from accidently stumbling into a shared joke as an outsider; a ridiculed and unwelcome outsider.

'I don't…' She began, her voice as thin as her lips which had grown as drawn and pale as her face.

'Oh I think you heard me.' Said Thomas.

'And in case you were wondering…' O'Brien turned her head sharply as Bates spoke up. 'I think you will find that His Lordship is also aware.'

O'Brien's mouth hung open a little wider.

'So's Lady Mary.' Added Anna brightly, shooting a wry smile Thomas's way.

'And Mr Crawley…' Molesley interjected miserably from the other side of the table.

'And Mr Carson, of course.' Said Jimmy with a twist of his head, a gesture simultaneously sensual and defiant. 'In fact we've had _many_ discussions with Mr Carson on the matter.'

'You can't…' O'Brien had wanted to say 'You can't be serious'. But another look around the occupants of the table, her gaze lingering momentarily on Alfred, who could do nothing other than give an apologetic shrug, made her realise that somehow…by means that she couldn't even _begin_ to piece together…Thomas was speaking the truth, and everyone else but her knew it.

'I don't think Her Ladyship is aware, if that's any consolation.' Said Thomas pleasantly. 'But I don't think His Lordship would thank you for telling her…'

O'Brien stared incredulously back at him and, once again, all around the occupants of the table.

No help, comfort or explanation was forthcoming from any of them.

'I'd best be…' She said shakily, getting to her feet.

'I think that would be best.' Thomas cut in with a small nod.

Backing away from the table, as though afraid to turn her back, O'Brien made her way over to the door and quickly disappeared through it.

Jimmy collapsed into giggles.

Thomas joined him.

Anna and Bates exchanged a private look of amusement and satisfaction.

Even Alfred couldn't help but give a solitary snort of mirth at the situation.

It wasn't until he was coiled up in bed an hour afterwards that Thomas realised that '_Later_' had come and gone, and he and Jimmy still hadn't had _that_ talk. But he managed to quell the uncomfortable realisation, and the murky and painful circumstances that had prompted the initial need for _that_ talk, by reminding himself that he'd just had dinner with the man he loved, who proudly sat by his side, in a room full of people…who _knew_.

And he would never forgive himself if he allowed darkness to creep into that memory.

_We'll talk tomorrow._

_Oh…Maybe not tomorrow. We're going to be busy tomorrow._

_The next day then._

He squirmed against his pillow, settling his head ready for a few hours of much needed sleep.


	27. Our Interest - Chapter 27

**Our Interest – Chapter 27**

The next day, early morning found Thomas spinning around the upstairs and downstairs of Downton doing a remarkably good impression of a headless chicken.

He checked the hallway, downstairs reception room and library were still perfectly arranged and perfectly clean (after assigning the Hall Boys to act as maids even earlier that morning) then began making his way back to the kitchens.

'Everyone dressed and ready to go?' He said as Anna and Bates came into view.

'Yes, Mr Barrow!' Came the chorused reply.

'Very good. Mr Bates, we need you in position, manning the donations table, at ten o'clock at the latest!'

'Yes, Mr Barrow.'

Thomas swept on his way down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He was just in time to see a triumphant Jimmy emerge from Mr Carson's office with the immaculately dressed Clarence and Vincent.

'Marvelous!' Exclaimed Thomas, trying to not look too surprised at how well they had scrubbed up. 'You look fit for a Palace!'

Clarence beamed in response while Vincent remained perfectly lusterless, but Thomas remained confident that the older Clarence's expressions actually 'spoke' for both of them.

Thomas smiled back at Clarence. 'Now, I want you to be at the door to greet the guests as they arrive. Just a little 'Welcome to Downton Abbey' when each group walks in, and take their coats or bags if they offer them. Is that alright?'

'Front of house? Me?'

'Yes, you.' Said Thomas firmly. 'And make sure you take that smile with you to the front door!' He added, deciding a little informality would probably help the (largely non-blue-blooded) guests to relax upon arrival. The weather that day, despite the traditional lingering chill that often dogs the last days of winter, was gloriously sunny, leading Thomas to suspect that the attendees would be in something of a sunny mood themselves. Consequently a shining smile upon greeting would be just the ticket to keep them in a good enough mood to be willing to throw vast amounts of money at a medical institution which _technically_ wanted for nothing anyway due to the patronage of the Grantham's.

'Now, Vincent, I need you by the buffet table. James and I will lay out plates at one end and what I need you to do is hand one, with a serviette, to each person as they come up to the table.' Thomas searched Vincent's blank expression. 'Is that alright?'

Vincent nodded twice then returned to perfect stillness. Clarence's smile hadn't dulled the entire time.

'Brilliant.' Said Thomas. 'Now you two go and have a cup of tea in the servant's hall until we are ready. James, with me!' He said briskly before turning on his heel to head to the store cupboards.

As expected he found Brett and Lee piling up plates, serviettes and glasses on various trays.

'Right, you three…' He swept a hand to indicate Jimmy and the Hall Boys. '…get this up and set out. I want two tables of empty glasses in perfect rows and NO smudges, and one small table piled with plates next to the long buffet table. Put a serviette in between each plate to make things easier for Vincent. Have you got that?'

'Yes, Mr Barrow.' They chorused.

As the three of them disappeared with the first sets of trays, Thomas continued on his way to the kitchens. He mentally steeled himself before entering.

'…I know the books don't _say_ they go together, but they _do_ go together!' Alfred asserted, slicing through the onions in front of him with slightly more gusto than strictly necessary, leaving deep furrows in the wooden chopping board, clearly hoping Mrs Bird would take the hint.

'And who are you to decide that!' Said Mrs Bird indignantly, hands on hips, attempting to dominate Alfred in girth as she had no hope of doing so by height. Ivy hovered behind her, a large tray of prepared mini-pasties in her hand, unable to get past but terrified of asking to be allowed to do so.

'Because we tested them last night, and everyone was unanimously in agreement with Alfred's opinion!' Said Thomas warmly as he walked through the door, hoping to diffuse the situation with sickly pleasantness, but suspecting a slightly firmer hand might be required.

Mrs Bird didn't disappoint.

'And no boiled eggs! How can you have a decent buffet with no egg?' She exclaimed.

'Because we had a little problem with our last supplier and are currently looking for a new one.' Said Thomas levelly, but still pleasantly. 'As I told you in my message, an outbreak of food poisoning is the reason over half the staff are currently indisposed.'

Mrs Bird tossed her head in derision. 'When eggs are cooked properly, they don't hurt anybody!'

Ivy made a pitiful whimpering noise behind her.

Alfred set the kitchen knife down on the board, no longer trusting himself to wield it in a gentlemanly manner, and looked pleadingly sideways at Thomas.

'Mrs Bird…' Said Thomas, through a deliberately fixed smile. 'The eggs were cooked in the same way that they have always been, the problem was with the eggs supplied, not the level of care in preparation.' He held up a hand to silence her when it became apparent she intended to argue the point. 'I am aware, Mrs Bird, that there are fewer cases of such sickness when eggs are cooked to within an inch of spoiling, but we here at Downton prefer our eggs to taste of something other than rubber.' Mrs Bird puffed up quite spectacularly at that.

Ivy looked terrified from her position, but Alfred caught her eye and conveyed a silent 'Wait for it!' message of reassurance before turning back to watch Thomas with glee.

'Mrs Bird!' Thomas quickly continued before she had the chance to jump in and defend her opinion on the finer points of eggs. 'I will remind you that you are currently being paid to do a job. And that job is simple. Facilitate good food, leaving this kitchen, _exactly_ when I request it. You are not currently doing that. So clam up, listen to what Alfred says because he speaks for me, and get on with some actual cooking. I made it more than clear when I requested your presence that you are here to _work_ in the kitchen not run it…' Thomas paused for effect; Alfred winked at Ivy who was completely stunned. '…And if you are not comfortable with that, then please absent yourself immediately. But as I understand it, you could use a little extra money...' Thomas added wickedly, well aware that Mrs Bird's finances were not in good shape at the present after hearing some errant gossip in the local village (not having suspected at the time that he would ever have reason to actually use the aforementioned gossip).

It did the trick.

Mrs Bird shut up and went back to stretching out bacon for the rolls, Ivy got the pasties in the oven and Alfred continued to massacre onions, but with a significant reduction in aggression.

'Good.' Said Thomas. 'I want everything that can be served cold on trays within the next half hour to go up. Everything hot that's for the buffet table, I want ready for ten o'clock. The bits that are for carrying round on trays, I need two made up, one for Jimmy…JAMES…and one for me, and they need to be ready by half past ten once the main food is out. Understood?'

'Yes, Mr Barrow!' All three quickly responded.

Thomas nodded in satisfaction. 'Good.' He said again, more to reassure himself than the others as he mentally scanned his brain for what else needed doing.

His eyes brightened as he remembered.

Turning on his heel again, Thomas left the kitchen and trotted down the corridor to Mr Carson's office.

Taking a few moments to savor the moment, he lifted the cellar key off it's perch with lightly trembling fingers, and grinned.

Just over an hour later, the moment was almost upon them. Any moment, the family would descend from the drawing room and the guests would begin to trickle in from the driveway.

Thomas gave the hall another once over; noting that Bates was in place by the donations table, Vincent was poised to provide plates, the majority of the buffet was on the table (Jimmy was bringing up the rest), Clarence was stood happily to attention by the front door, and the kitchen staff were out of sight along with the Hall Boys…

Suddenly a murderous intent settled across Thomas's expression.

His keen eyes had picked out a glass, right in the dead center of one of the tables, that had unmistakable marks from chapped lips and saliva round it's rim.

Thomas immediately plucked it from it's spot.

He stared down at the offending glass, realising that there was no time to re-arrange the hundreds of glasses to hide the hole it would leave to remove it. With a resigned shrug, he whipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and quickly buffed away the mark, returning the glass to the table just in time for the Grantham's to make their appearance.

He spared a brief silent apology for whatever poor sod ended up with that particular glass later that day.

After briefly reporting to Lord Grantham that everything was under control, he sped down to the kitchens to collect the final tray of food, passing Jimmy on the stairs on the way up.

'Start pouring out the wine and lemonade when you've put that down!' He quickly ordered as he continued on his way.

'Yes, Mr Barrow!' Jimmy's response echoed down the stair case.

Thomas entered the kitchens, finding the three cooks and the Hall Boys bustling about to get the final buffet tray ready.

'You two…' Thomas called, snapping his fingers to get Brett and Lee's attention. 'Come here.'

They walked slowly towards him, looking highly sheepish.

'You're both losing a week's wages. And any more of that nonsense and you'll be thrown out on your ears.' He growled at them.

Brett opened his mouth to deny any charges, but unluckily for him, Lee wasn't made of the same stuff.

'It weren't me that licked the glass!' Exclaimed Lee loudly. 'He did it!' He pointed at Brett. 'Why should I lose pay?'

Thomas snorted a little, looking at Brett with the tiniest hint of sympathy.

'Because…' He said measuredly to Lee. '…You could have either chosen to either be a good friend to him and kept quiet, or a good member of staff to me and speak out earlier…but you did neither.'

_Pathetic little…_

Thomas cleared his throat. 'No more of this, do you _both_ understand?'

'Yes, Mr Barrow.' They said miserably.

Thomas grabbed the final tray, called out a quick 'Amazing work!' to the cooks, and swept out of the kitchen.

As the first guests began to arrive, Thomas allowed himself a few deep breaths before nodding to Jimmy that the time had come to offer round the drinks.

Somehow, everything seemed to go according to plan. Clarence's sunny demeanor put the guests in a good mood, Bates's humble humanitarianism got people to dig deep into their pocketbooks at the donation table, Vincent's sullenness actually came off as dignified when coupled with livery, and Thomas and Jimmy quite enjoyed themselves; showing off for one another as well as for the guests as they wove their way through the rapidly increasing crowds, with trays of full glasses expertly balanced on their hands.

As expected, the food was lavishly praised (and demolished within a few minutes of the official 'opening' of the buffet), with many people commenting on it's originality.

The Crawley's faces wore such expressions of surprise and delight at each delicious mouthful of food, prepared by their _Footman_, and were so shocked and impressed by the presentation of the immaculately turned out _Gardeners_, that Thomas found himself fighting back a smile as wide as Clarence's for most of the morning.

Clarkson seemed content to ignore the existence of Thomas and Jimmy, even going so far as to take a drink from the table when Jimmy was pouring them, rather than suffer the indignity of taking one from Thomas or Jimmy's trays directly.

Jimmy neglected to point out this particular exchange to Thomas (who was doing his level best to avoid Clarkson's vicinity anyway), finding Thomas's glee at the smooth running of the event to be far too precious to risk spoiling.

A few hours later as the end of the talk drew near, Thomas and Jimmy were busying themselves with replenishing their drinks trays to offer round to the guests as they emerged from the library when a flustered (and very out of place) Ivy appeared at the side of the hall.

'Mr Barrow!' She whispered urgently, motioning him over to the side, unwilling to actually set foot in the center of the hall even though there were currently no guests present. 'Mr Barrow!'

'What is it?' Thomas crossed over quickly to her side. 'Something wrong with the last set of canapés?'

'No.' Said Ivy, shaking her head vigorously in a state of deep distress.

'Well…' Thomas paused for a moment to give her the opportunity to speak, but she seemed quite unable to do so. 'What then? The Hall Boys playing up again?'

'No…it's…'

'In your own time Ivy, but I _really_ haven't got all day!' Said Thomas, starting to feel very nervous himself.

'It's Mrs Patmore, she's in the kitchen and she won't leave.' Said Ivy with a sob.

Thomas took a step back, running a rough hand through his (up till that point) perfect hair.

'Oh HELL…'


	28. Our Interest - Chapter 28

**Our Interest – Chapter 28**

As he practically abseiled down the winding staircase ahead of Ivy, Thomas entertained the forlorn hope that the worst he would be confronted with would be a well-rested Mrs Patmore (because _of course_ Clarkson and O'Brien would have 'forgotten' to tell him that Mrs Patmore was back on her feet) reacting in indignant (but civilised) surprise to find a Footman _and _Mrs Bird, of all people, running _her_ kitchen.

The sight of a shell-shocked Mrs Bird hiding in the corridor outside the kitchen upon his arrival rapidly quelled that notion.

_Oh God…_

Thomas flew the last few steps towards the kitchen; coming to a skidding halt behind the ghastly and ghostly figure of a dishevelled and night-clothed Mrs Patmore.

She immediately turned around at the sound of his shoe soles scuffing on the stone floor, giving Thomas no time to hide the shock on his face.

But he needn't have worried about offending or angering her; her eyes were vacant and unseeing. He glanced briefly past her to make eye contact with Alfred, who wasn't in a much better state than Ivy or Mrs Bird, but was at least standing his ground. A quick 'What the fuck's happened?' and 'I have no bloody idea!' passed wordlessly between them.

Over in the far corner Brett and Lee stood huddled in the corner, clutching the pans they had apparently been in the midst of cleaning. It was a comical sight, given that the sink was on the _other _side of the room.

Thomas could see why everyone was quite so unnerved. Discarding the obvious violation of propriety that came with parading around in ones nightclothes (apart from under _very_ exceptional circumstances) her appearance gave cause for alarm. The sight of her red curls, tangled from the bed rest, moving about her head like a frowsy bush, coupled with her abnormally pallid and impassioned expression had Thomas suddenly understanding why the appearance of the Queen of the Ancient Britons had inspired such fear among the Roman people and gone on to become the stuff of legend.

'Where is that silly girl!?' She demanded of Thomas, speaking to him as though he were a manifestation of her subconscious rather than to a physical person, casting her gaze wildly about the area behind him.

'Here, Mrs Patmore.' Said Ivy meekly from the doorway.

'Not you! The other one!' Said Mrs Patmore, shaking her head vigorously, clearly unable to recall the name she had shouted at least five times a day for the past decade.

Thomas glanced up towards Alfred again, who nodded slightly to indicate that he had realised the same thing as Thomas; Mrs Patmore was most definitely not herself.

She was in the grips of a deep delirium.

Caught up in their reverie, they both absently noted Mrs Patmore making a lunge for something on the table but paid no mind at first. Both in silent concord that finding a way to get Mrs Patmore back to bed for the sake of her health trumped the benefit's need for more canapés.

The glint of metal under the kitchen lamps as she withdrew her hand immediately clued the two men into the fact they had made a grievous miscalculation.

'Now then…' Said Mrs Patmore firmly, waving the carving knife about like a wand. 'Where do we start…?'

Thomas and Alfred's hearts leapt to their throats as she brought the hand holding the knife up to the side of her head. By some miracle she managed to achieve her objective, a quick scratch, without cutting either skin or hair.

'Go upstairs, get Dr Clarkson.' Said Thomas in a low voice to Ivy, not daring to take his eyes off Mrs Patmore as she paced up and down the side of the table, causing Alfred to flinch a little away from her (and the knife) each time she approached.

'I can't go in there!' She whispered desperately, referring to the hall full of people dressed to impress in their Sunday best several floors above.

'Oh that's _fine_.' Said Thomas bitingly. 'Why don't you just come over here and trade places with me and _I'll _go.'

'The family won't like it!' She said.

'The family will understand.' Thomas retorted quickly, side-stepping as Mrs Patmore approached to stop her from escaping past him.

'That!' Mrs Patmore suddenly turned towards the table, seeing the food laid out there as though for the first time. 'Why's someone gone and put _broccoli_ on there!' She exclaimed, indicating insistently towards one of the trays. It was, all at once, a hilarious and terrifying spectacle.

'Ivy.' Thomas said in a voice that would broke no disagreement. 'Go. Now.'

She went.

Thomas took a step towards Mrs Patmore to limit the amount of space she had to pace round in, raising a hand to motion a reluctant Alfred forwards to do the same.

'You two.' Thomas said to Brett and Lee. 'Go stand in the doorway. If she gets past us DO NOT let her get past you.'

'Yes, Mr Barrow.' They chorused meekly and began to inch their way across to the doorway, terrified of Mrs Patmore even with the large table between them.

Thomas highly doubted they would prove a match for her if she did attempt to escape, but at least flattening the two of them would slow her down.

'On three, Alfred.' Said Thomas. 'One…'

'Wait! WHAT on three?' Said Alfred, sounding every bit as skittish as Ivy had a few moments earlier.

'You know what.' Said Thomas, keeping his voice low and level as he moved closer towards Mrs Patmore. 'And don't you dare let me down.'

Thomas took a few steps closer, and watched with gratitude as Alfred did the same.

'Three!' He announced.

The two of them darted forwards, each taking hold of one of Mrs Patmore's arms. They were left feeling somewhat silly for having made such a dramatic grab for her when she made no move to protest, and in fact gave no reaction at all apart from looking in confusion at the kitchen table, wondering why bending forwards towards it was suddenly impossible.

Thomas quickly took the knife from her hand while her attention was elsewhere and threw it in the sink behind. Only then did he allow himself a deep sigh of relief.

He noticed that the Hall Boys had begun to giggle now that the danger of a knife wielding Mrs Patmore had been taken care of.

'Make yourselves useful and take them upstairs.' He said darkly, indicating towards the trays on the table. 'Leave them on the buffet table for James to deal with, then make yourselves scarce.' As Brett and Lee darted forwards to collect the trays, Thomas added. 'And make no mistake that this…' He flicked his eyes towards the bedraggled Mrs Patmore, who was now sagging in his grip as though about to keel over. '…is not a matter I ever want to hear referred to again. Don't give me another reason to threaten your jobs.'

Thomas could have sworn he saw the final stages of an eye roll as Brett raised his head, but the resigned 'Understood, Mr Barrow' that swiftly followed was convincing enough.

They were intercepted by Dr Clarkson en route as they slowly manoeuvred Mrs Patmore back to her room. The sight of the state Mrs Patmore was in was enough to make Clarkson temporarily disregard his utter disdain for Thomas's existence; something which, instead of being uplifting, only served to worry Thomas more as to the extent of Mrs Patmore's delirium. Both he and Clarkson were of the opinion that the problem was induced by dehydration.

Thus, as soon as they had Mrs Patmore safely back in bed (and Alfred had made a very hasty retreat into the corridor, as much for Mrs Patmore's dignity as for his own delicate sensibilities) Clarkson angrily summoned the nurse and Miss O'Brien and read them the riot act both for allowing Mrs Patmore to get into such a state and for allowing her to escape from her room.

They had no answer as to how they hadn't noticed the deterioration in Mrs Patmore's condition, only to say that she had seemed fine earlier that day and had given no cause for concern. It emerged that the both of them had been needed in Mrs Hughes's room, and that had enabled Mrs Patmore to leaver her room unnoticed during that time.

While Dr Clarkson sternly reproached them and gave instructions for the continued care for Mrs Patmore, Thomas allowed his mind to wander a little. Truth be told, he was intensely glad that Miss O'Brien had not been deliberately responsible for Mrs Patmore's escape. He genuinely didn't trust himself had it emerged that she had put yet another person's welfare at risk in order to spite him.

Although any brief lightening of his mood on that account was rapidly blackened when, after instructing the nurse to fetch several items from the medical stores that had been brought to the house, Clarkson turned to him and made it abundantly clear (in a very high-handed manner) that his presence was no longer needed or wanted.

Thomas didn't actually _want_ to stay. He knew it wouldn't be appropriate for him to do so. But the tone of Clarkson's voice had him almost wanting to handcuff himself to the bed out of principle.

'My my, the temperature just dropped in here and no mistake.' Said Miss O'Brien with a wry smile.

Thomas sighed and got to his feet.

'Ask Dr Clarkson to tell you the story.' He said wearily as he headed for the door. 'You'll like it…Or at least, you'll like the way he'll tell it.' He gave a dismissive twist of his head as he stepped out into the corridor to walk back to the kitchens with Alfred.


	29. Our Interest - Chapter 29

**Our Interest – Chapter 29**

It was almost a full week before the staffing crisis was concluded and it left Alfred, Jimmy and Thomas all seriously questioning whether, should the opportunity ever arise for a more permanent promotion from their current positions, they would actually _want_ it. When the day finally arrived when they could begin to hand back the various duties and responsibilities to their rightful owners and step back into their own places in the staff hierarchy, all three were teetering dangerously close to exhaustion.

So much so, that they found it hard to maintain the appropriate stiff-backed posture when summoned to the library by Lord Grantham later that afternoon.

Alfred was back in his Footman's livery, along with Jimmy, while Thomas remained in his usual Under Butler finery. Their clothing was impeccable, but their hair betrayed them. A few stray hairs brushed rebelliously across their foreheads, while errant locks stuck out at inappropriate angles at the backs of their heads. Nervously running a hand through their hair was something all three of them had done a lot over the past few days, although none of them could remember whose fault it had been for setting off the habit in the first place.

They stood in a shaky line, nervously awaiting evaluation of their work that week. Everything in their heart of hearts assured them that they had triumphed, but the inevitable self-doubt and paranoia that comes hand in hand with shining achievement had them afraid to look Lord Grantham in the eye.

'Why so gloomy?' Said Robert gently as he walked towards them. 'You all must know why I've asked you here today…?'

Thomas glanced to the left at Alfred, then to the right at Jimmy. They both remained awkwardly silent, staring at the floor.

Thomas cleared his throat.

'I trust your Lordship is wanting a report of the final hand-over to…'

Robert snorted softly. 'Mr Barrow…' Robert's smile became remarkably informal for the briefest of moments. '…I never thought I'd have cause to say this to _you_; but your modesty is truly astonishing.'

Thomas's mouth fell open for a moment, but the realisation that Robert was actually hoping to share the joke of his previous ill-character _with_ him (rather than intending to reproach him for it) had him closing it and giving a slightly incredulous, but nevertheless warm, smile in response.

His smile broadened at the sound of both Alfred and Jimmy struggling to suppress their own giggles either side of him.

'I wanted to see you…' Said Robert. 'All three of you, in fact, because I want you to congratulate you all on rising to a challenge that I myself thought impossible…Mr Barrow you somehow fulfilled the role of both Butler _and_ Housekeeper, something I doubt many Butlers, let alone Under Butlers, would attempt, let alone succeed in their efforts to do so. Alfred you have shown a truly remarkable talent for not only organising the kitchens and stores but also producing some of the most exciting meals I have eaten in a good long while…' Robert comically tilted his head towards Alfred to utter in a low voice. 'Though if you value your life, _never_ share that with Mrs Patmore!' Alfred grinned, momentarily forgetting that the smiling man in front of him was his Lord and Master. 'And James…' Thomas stiffened a little (though why he wasn't sure) as Lord Grantham moved to stand in front of Jimmy, whose face colored at the attention. Jimmy still stared at the floor, evidently feeling he had no reason to be included for praise along with Thomas and Alfred, having not done anything nearly as remarkable as they had.

'James…?' Robert waited until Jimmy finally consented to raise his eye level to meet his gaze. 'I know that look James.' Said Robert with a sympathetic look. 'It's a look that says "I am unworthy, what have I done?"…' Jimmy raised his eyebrows, and gave a little tilt of his head, in apologetic agreement. 'I know what you were this week, James.' Said Robert gently. 'You were Alfred, and Mr Barrow and yourself all combined. I'm sure they will agree that without your support they would not have been free to perform the tasks that fell to them this week. You have worked just as hard as them, in a role which in itself carries neither glamor nor glory. But you still worked just as hard. And that is remarkable James, and it _is_ appreciated, very much so.'

Jimmy responded with appropriately bashful surprise and pleasure, but his smile was nowhere near as wide as Thomas's at Robert's kind words.

Thomas quickly wiped the proud smile off his face and fixed a slightly less open expression on it as Robert took a step back to address the three of them again.

'Your energy and dedication to this household moves me greatly…' Robert's tone momentarily became less jovial. '…particularly when I think of how we almost…' He coughed a little nervously. '…lost two of you, not such a long time ago.' He paused, leaving them all to share something akin to a memorial silence at the dark memory before continuing. 'Know that I am very impressed and immeasurably grateful for your work this week.'

'Thank you, My Lord.' The three men responded in unison.

'As a small token of the appreciation of this household…' The merriment returned to Robert's expression. 'Once Mr Carson and the others have had a few days to re-acclimatise themselves, I intend to order, not ask, you to all take two days of leave.'

There was an audible gasp, largely from Thomas and Jimmy (who shared a not-so-surreptitious look of delight), but Alfred was not entirely without joy at the announcement (having not had opportunity to visit his mother for almost six months).

'Now on that note…' Robert said loudly to bring their attention back to him. '…I think we had best conclude things. But before you go, I hope you will forgive me a little sentimentality; Because I believe you three _are_ the future of Downton, and I want to tell you that I like how the future appears from here.'

The phrase 'Yes, Mr Lord' seemed inappropriate after such a speech, so after a lingering bow, Alfred, Jimmy and Thomas filed out into the corridor in stunned silence.

The three of them made it a small way round the corridor before Thomas found himself gripped with manic joy to such an extent that he felt compelled to throw an arm around the two men at his side and loudly exclaim. 'Well how was that for you, eh?'

The three of them collapsed into astonished and loud peals of gleeful laughter.

Miss O'Brien on the other hand, was not having such a good day. She had kept herself sane during the long hours of waiting on sickness hand and foot by imagining ways in which she could 'accidently' let slip to Cora the truth about the situation with Thomas and Jimmy. She of course appreciated the need for discretion, the others were most likely right that Lord Grantham would not look kindly on her for telling his wife about such things, but was quite unable to let the chance to regain at least a little ground against Thomas go by.

So, as she knocked at Cora's door for the first time since her demotion to Nursemaid, O'Brien was actually in quite good spirits.

'O'Brien!' Exclaimed Cora from her seat at the dresser. 'I'd been wondering when I was going to get you back.'

'Very glad to be back, My Lady.' Said O'Brien, walking to stand beside her and taking up the comb without needing a word of instruction.

'Although I must say I'm a little disappointed…'

O'Brien frowned in confusion at the coyly unamused look in Cora's eyes that was reflected back at her in the mirror.

'My Lady…?'

Cora kept her waiting a few moments as she tested first one jeweled hair clip, then another, against her dark curls.

'It's this business with Mr Barrow…' Said Cora. '…and that Footman.'

'You know about that, My Lady?' Said O'Brien in surprise.

'I do.' Said Cora, sounding highly perturbed. For a moment O'Brien's heart lit up. 'But I fail to see _why _I had to learn it from my husband.' Cora continued, shooting a pointed look at O'Brien in the mirror.

O'Brien started to feel very very cold. 'My Lady…?'

'Come now, O'Brien, don't play with me. You know I detest it.' Said Cora, briefly swiveling round to look O'Brien in the face. 'You've been Mr Barrow's friend for years, do you honestly expect me to believe you didn't know he was _that_ way?'

'I…I…' O'Brien groped for a response. 'I didn't think it proper to say…'

'Well from now on you will kindly allow _me_ to decide what is proper for myself.' Said Cora firmly, turning back to the mirror. As she raised another hair clip up to test it in the light, her expression softened and her mouth quirked into an amused smile. 'It is rather _scandalous_, isn't it?' She said merrily.

O'Brien felt as though she had just been slapped in the face.


	30. Our Interest - Chapter 30

**Our Interest – Chapter 30**

The next evening, Jimmy was a little perplexed at heading into the servant's hall to find a conspicuous absence of Thomas.

He withdrew from the doorway so speedily that none of the others saw him, and briefly stuck his head out of the back door to see if he could spot the tell-tale glow of a cigarette anywhere in the darkness. But there was none evident. He gave an involuntary shudder at the light whistling of the wind and decided against venturing beyond the yard to double check that Thomas wasn't outside.

Plodding back down the corridor, he debated heading upstairs to see if Thomas had already gone to his room. But it was still relatively early, for the servants at least, and he didn't much fancy the idea of making his way up the ridiculously numerous flights of stairs only for Thomas to reappear in the servant's hall in his absence.

Gritting his teeth, he headed back into the servant's hall.

'Has anyone seen Mr Barrow about?' He said, bobbing about a little on his feet in an abortive attempt to appear unaffected by the question.

Mrs Hughes looked up slowly from the lists she was organising.

There was a highly awkward pause as she regarded him with a deadpan expression.

'I believe Mr and Mrs Bates were kind enough to invite Mr Barrow to dine with them at their cottage this evening.' She said measuredly.

'And he went!?' Jimmy blurted out incredulously before he could stop himself.

'And why should he not?' Mrs Hughes responded icily.

Jimmy was suddenly aware that the other occupants of the room had turned to watch the exchange; bar Alfred who was staring instead at a set of playing cards arranged in front of him on the table.

Jimmy decided there was absolutely no safe answer that he could give to Mrs Hughes's question, and instead endeavored to extract himself from the conversation.

'Silly me!' Jimmy said with a nervous laugh. 'He told me…' Jimmy shook his head, as though miming forgetfulness would somehow make his blatant lie seem less pathetic. '…I remember now.' He said.

As Mrs Hughes raised an unamused eyebrow, Jimmy quickly made his way down the table and slid into the seat opposite Alfred. He could still feel the eyes of the others on him, and shifted about uncomfortably in his seat, willing them to either be struck blind or to look elsewhere.

'You alright?' Said Alfred quietly.

Jimmy realised he had been frowning and quickly put his face to rights.

'Yes…I'm fine. I just…' Jimmy glanced around until he was satisfied that the others had directed their attentions back to their respective entertainments. '…why would he go to dinner at the Bates's? I thought…' Jimmy glanced around even more carefully. '…I thought he hated Bates. I thought they hated each other.'

Alfred shrugged and began to turn his attention back to the cards laid out in front of him, the last ace he required for his game of solitaire completely eluding him.

Jimmy continued to fidget about in the chair.

Alfred was forced to concede defeat.

With a resigned sigh he looked back up at Jimmy.

'What's wrong?'

Jimmy pursed his lips and shrugged.

'Tell me what's wrong or I'll tell Mrs Hughes you've been bullying me.' Said Alfred with a grin.

Jimmy's face cracked into a smile.

'Come on…' Said Alfred, his fingers twitching over the cards laid out in front of him in their eagerness to get back to the game.

'Why didn't he tell me? That's all.' Said Jimmy.

'You weren't around earlier.' Said Alfred with another dismissive shrug. 'And he'll be back later tonight. What's the problem?'

Jimmy gave an exaggerated sigh and leaned heavily on the table.

'Maybe…' he eventually mumbled. 'Maybe…I could have gone too.'

He spoke so softly that Alfred had to give his full attention, and replay the words several times in his head before actually understanding them.

'You what!?' Alfred said, laughing loudly when he realised what Jimmy was getting at.

He quickly stopped when he saw Jimmy cringing at the curious looks that were once again directed towards him after the loud exclamation.

'Sorry!' Alfred quickly whispered, leaning towards him in an attempt to keep the conversation private. 'But why would you want to have dinner at the cottage of a bloke who thinks you're a brat?'

'I don't.' Jimmy said firmly. 'I just…'

Jimmy trailed off completely, either unwilling or unable to formulate the rest of the sentence.

He looked so sullen and forlorn that Alfred felt compelled to sweep the cards in front of him back into a stack (privately mourning his game of solitaire as he did) and offer to play Jimmy at rummy.


	31. Our Interest - Chapter 31

**Our Interest – Chapter 31**

The view through the window into the Bates's cottage was a merry one that evening. The nondescript but warm color of the walls reflected the glowing lamplight perfectly, giving a pleasant aura to the living and dining room where the three figures of Anna, Bates and Thomas sat as dusk fell in the world outside. The plates scraped clean in front of them, the three of them were now alternating repeatedly between conversation and laughter at reliving the past week's events.

From his unusually unguarded gaiety, one would never have guessed that Thomas didn't actually want to be there. He hadn't wanted to accept the offer in the first place. Had the Bates's asked him at to come at a future date or asked him to follow on to the cottage later, he was fairly confident he would have refused entirely. But it was somehow impossible to refuse when they had directly invited him to walk over _with_ them after cornering him that evening (and had already cleared the idea with Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes, who were unsubtly spying to see what his reaction might be to such a suggestion).

Ostensibly the reason for the dinner invitation was to congratulate Thomas on his successful time as acting Butler. Bates being Bates, Thomas highly suspected there was an ulterior motive. But he knew that the food _would_ be good, and it _was_ something of a status symbol to be invited to dine away from Downton and the pride instilled by Lord Grantham's words the day before had Thomas happy to indulge in a little celebration on his own behalf (even if it was with the Bates's). And as the three of them swapped stories from the madness of the previous days, Thomas found the experience quite enjoyable.

One could almost go so far as to say that the fact that he didn't want to be there had quite slipped his mind by the end of the meal.

'Well I certainly think you've made the Gardeners' Christmas card list.' Laughed Bates, recalling the ecstatic look that had been plastered on Clarence's face the entirety of the benefit.

'I wish I could have seen him in action!' Smiled Anna, leaning into the table in her bright enthusiasm. 'He was so chuffed at wearing the uniform I thought he'd burst from happiness!'

Thomas laughed, almost losing the mouthful of water he had just taken in the process. 'Well I can't take credit for the get-up, James is the one who got him in the uniform and taught him how to hold himself and suchlike.' While he was replacing his glass on the table, he missed the look that passed between Anna and Bates.

'It seems James is much changed these days.' Said Anna. Her jovial tone dropped a little, despite her efforts to try to make the statement seem like a perfectly natural extension of the current conversation.

Thomas instantly frosted over. 'He's always been very good at his job Mrs Bates. If people have finally started to notice that then I'm glad.'

No number of lamps could have lightened the ensuing atmosphere.

Anna sighed, abandoning the pretense of nonchalance. 'I only mean to say, Mr Barrow, that he seems much happier these days.'

'That does make people more inclined to appreciate someone's work.' Bates added.

Thomas gave a smile that was more akin to a grimace in response. He quickly dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his serviette.

'I think it's time I was heading back.' He said, speaking to the table more than to Anna or Bates.

'Mr Barrow, I didn't mean to pry.' Said Anna.

'I think you did.' Said Thomas dully, rising out of his seat.

Bates quickly retrieved his stick from beside the table and rose with him. 'Mr Barrow if you don't wish to talk about something you need only say so. There is no reason to leave.'

Thomas ignored him and took a few steps over to the coat stand before turning back, suddenly regressing eight years in age. 'That's it isn't it? That's why you really wanted to invite me over. You wanted to grill me about James. Ain't there enough gossip flying round Downton already for your tastes?' He turned his back and began to wrench his coat off the peg, making a complete pig's ear of the task in his anger and struggling awkwardly to release the collar as it got caught.

Behind his back Anna and Bates shared another meaningful look.

'Mr Barrow…' Said Bates, walking over to him as Anna began to clear away the debris of the meal from the table. '…you are right. I did have an ulterior motive in asking you here this evening.'

Thomas snorted bitterly in response, swinging his coat around his shoulders upon finally extracting it from the coat peg.

'But it's nothing to do with James.' Said Bates with a slightly reproachful look as he reached past Thomas to retrieve his own coat.

Thomas's petulant mood was immediately replaced by a wary curiosity.

'Come on.' Said Bates, stepping past Thomas to lead the way out of the front door.

Frowning, Thomas stepped after him.

Bates walked across the small pathway that ran around the cottages and led the way in the almost total darkness (at least to their eyes, having gotten overly used to the bright lights of the house) to a large log fashioned into a bench that stood to the side of the field just beyond.

'Please sit down.' Said Bates, slowly lowering himself onto the seat.

Thomas's shoulder twitched a little as he half turned away towards the direction of Downton.

'Oh come on Mr Barrow. You can hardly have dinner at my house and deny me the pleasure of sharing a cigarette afterwards can you?' Said Bates.

Thomas could hear the grin in his voice and there was something about the way Bates spoke that had him smiling too.

With a humph of disapproval, Thomas made his way over to sit down beside him. He expertly located the cigarette packet in his jacket pocket in one swift movement and tapped two out, offering one to Bates.

He watched as Bates lit the cigarette before leaning a little back on the bench to look up at the night's sky as he exhaled.

'Thought you didn't smoke no more.' Said Thomas as he lit his own.

'On this occasion I think Mrs Bates would be willing to overlook it.' Said Bates. Thomas found himself pondering how strange it was that he could always tell when the traditional little wry half-smile was on Bates's face even when he couldn't actually see it.

Thomas languidly exhaled a long stream of smoke to the field beyond.

'What occasion, Mr Bates?' He said without enthusiasm.

He could hear in the rustling of Bates's coat that he had turned towards him, but Thomas kept his gaze ahead and on the field. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness the features of the surrounding trees and hedgerows and deep furrows in the earth began to take shape and he briefly found himself fancying the uncomplicated life of a farming man. Though he shook his head a little to dispel the notion, cursing the bewitching power of moonlight over landscape to addle the mind.

'I didn't want to say anything before…' Began Bates gently. '…but I think now perhaps you are…well enough…' Thomas closed his eyes, suddenly realising. '…Now, I don't want to ask you anything, or cause you distress, I merely wanted the chance to tell you privately that if you do want to speak about that damnable prison, you will find a willing listener in me.'

Thomas turned a little towards Bates, pondering the notion, watching the shape of Bates's head in the darkness and the features briefly illuminated by the glow of the cigarette as he once again raised it to his lips.

Bates stayed silent under Thomas's scrutiny.

'You know…' Said Thomas, breaking the moment to turn away and flick the errant ash from his cigarette. 'I think it's you that needs to answer a question on that account.' He finished, with a quirk of his eyebrows (suspecting Bates was as adept as he was at reading facial expressions in tone of voice).

'Ask away.' Bates responded, although Thomas noted a certain degree of trepidation.

Thomas sniffed and steeled himself to re-open that particular door.

'What did you do to make so many enemies there?' Said Thomas softly.

'Enemies?' Said Bates.

'Yes…' Thomas hung his head a little. 'Enemies. Men who hated you so much that they wanted to hurt me just for knowing you…' He took another, far more shaky, inhale of smoke. 'And I think you must know who they are.'

Bates nodded in the darkness. 'I think I must.' He said apologetically. 'Did they?' He added after a pause.

'Did they what?'

'Did they hurt you, Thomas?'

Thomas couldn't help but notice the slip in formality. Under the circumstances it made his skin crawl uncomfortably at the insinuation of the degree of 'hurt' that may have been obtained.

'No. Not really.' Thomas again punctuated his words with a breath of smoke. 'I had someone looking after me.'

'I see...' Bates said dubiously. 'Thomas you know you can tell me if anything did…'

'Just tell me what you did to them.' Thomas cut in.

'Well…' Bates looked up at the sky again. 'I refused to participate in their drug dealings. There were some unpleasantries while my cell mate and I attempted to frame one another, and later I threatened a man with a blade.'

'I always knew you were a dark horse.' Said Thomas with a light chuckle.

'You have no idea, Mr Barrow.' Said Bates. Thomas was pleased to note the return to 'Mr Barrow'.

Thomas chuckled again. 'Wish they'd asked me to get involved in the drugs.' He said. 'I'd have done it in a heartbeat. Would have made things so much easier.'

Bates accidently exhaled smoke through his nostrils, gripped by a sudden compulsion to laugh.

'You know, Mr Barrow, they always say there are two types of people in the world…' He trailed off, shooting a sideways look at Thomas that bordered on affectionate.

Thomas snorted. 'Do _they_ know which type comes off better in the long run?'

'They think they do.' Said Bates softly.

Bates and Thomas sat smoking in silence, watching the clouds disappear above to reveal a cold open sky above and listening to the faint sounds of the breeze whistling between the cottages and the trees.

When they both reached the ends of their cigarettes, Thomas tentatively produced the packet to offer another; which Bates happily accepted.

'Won't the missus be wondering where you've got to?' Said Thomas with amusement as he lit Bates's cigarette for him.

'She'll understand.' Said Bates. 'We both worry about you, you know.'

'Could have fooled me.' Said Thomas, suddenly bitter again. 'I think there's still a dent the shape of my back in the attic corridor.'

'That was a long time ago, Mr Barrow. I'm sure you won't try and deny that you were a nasty brat in need of correction.'

'Suppose not…' Said Thomas. 'But for the record, that _was_ a bit excessive. If Daisy had really wanted to be with William then I couldn't have come between them however much I tried.'

'You have a remarkably romantic notion of love, Mr Barrow.'

Awkward silence reigned for a few moments until Thomas gave a sigh. 'I suppose I do.' He said simply. 'Bit unlucky for me really, given the circumstances.'

Bates nodded in agreement.

When it became apparent that Thomas had nothing to add on that account, Bates decided to return to their previous point.

'Anyway, Mr Barrow. Even back in the days when I…strongly disapproved…of your attitude, I hope you realise that if you had come to me with troubles I would have helped you.'

'Troubles?' Said Thomas dubiously.

'Like the Duke for instance…' Said Bates, trying and failing (as Anna had done before) to speak naturally.

Thomas grimaced. 'I really don't want to speak on that.' He said. 'But…it was kind of you to try to help me last year. I appreciate it now. Although I didn't then.' Thomas turned to Bates. 'I'll tell you this much, what happened to him was an accident. I won't deny that it was a bloody fortunate one. But it _was _an accident.'

'Of course.' Said Bates. 'I never doubted, but it is nice to have that confirmed.'

They both shared a rueful smile, the moonlight now picking out their features in the darkness, before turning back to their cigarettes.

'Anna didn't mean any harm earlier, when she brought up James, by the way.' Said Bates.

'Oh I know.' Said Thomas, wincing a little at the memory of his reaction. 'I'll apologise when I see her tomorrow. And please thank her for the meal on my behalf when you go in. James just…everything's just a bit raw at the moment. And he's…' Thomas paused.

'Yes…?' Said Bates gently.

'He's…' Thomas sighed. '…confusing sometimes.' He shook his head and shrugged. 'He seems so open about some things, but completely shuts down at others. Like the other day, he came out after Clarkson was a…complete bastard…and yet when I tried to talk to him about Lieutenant Courtenay he just clammed up. I thought that was why he had followed me in the first place.'

'That is…odd.' Said Bates, deciding against probing for further information regarding Courtenay (and against informing Thomas of the part he and Anna had played in getting Jimmy to follow him in the first place). 'Did he give a reason for his reluctance?'

Thomas snorted. 'Apparently he has "no talent for consolation".' He said, mockingly emulating Jimmy's voice.

'Well…' Said Bates with a shrug. 'So long as his other talents make up for it…'

Both he and Thomas suddenly sat bolt upright.

'Oh, I didn't mean…!' Said Bates quickly.

'No, no…I know you didn't.' Said Thomas equally quickly.

'Because I would never presume to…'

'Course you wouldn't!'

They awkwardly paused.

'I think I'd best be getting back now, Mr Bates.' Said Thomas.

'Of course, Mr Barrow.' Bates immediately responded. 'Thank you for tonight.'

'It's been a nice evening.' Said Thomas. He rose quickly, but did take the time to shoot a genuine smile of thanks at Bates before hurrying off along the pathway to Downton.


	32. Our Interest - Chapter 32

**Our Interest – Chapter 32**

The following evening of a decidedly bland day, found Jimmy once again hunting for Thomas. He performed the same routine as the previous night, poking his head into the servant's hall then out into the yard, but to no avail.

He could just about see Anna through the doorway into the hall, so reasoned that Thomas was unlikely to be at her cottage again. Unwilling to suffer a similar indignity to the previous night by actually asking someone about Thomas's whereabouts, Jimmy decided he might as well traipse up the staircase and check Thomas's room. It was either that or sit awkwardly alone. The servant's hall was busy, but he couldn't see one viable option for conversation. Not that he really had more than one 'viable option' in that regard (besides Thomas); and Alfred was in the kitchen talking animatedly with Daisy, Ivy and Mrs Patmore…mostly to Ivy, of course…and while Jimmy had no qualms about disturbing his card games, he wasn't about to get in the way of _this_ particular development.

With a heavy sigh that came out much louder than he expected, Jimmy turned and headed up the staircase. The climb was long and dark in the evening gloom. By the time he reached the attic a very sullen cloud had fallen across his mind, but it lifted instantly at the sight of a small stream of light emanating from under Thomas's bedroom door.

Without needing to pause even for a moment to double check that it was the correct door, Jimmy closed the distance in a few quick strides and rapped smartly on the wood.

'Come in!' Called Thomas.

Jimmy smiled brightly to himself at the confirmation of Thomas's presence and was through the door in a flash, making sure to leave it wide open behind him.

'Hello.' He said, a little too breathlessly for his own comfort, as he entered, finding Thomas seated at his desk.

Thomas immediately turned round at the sound of his voice, almost knocking the writing paraphernalia off his desk in the process.

'Hello trouble.' He responded with a grin. 'I haven't seen you all day!'

'Or last night…' Said Jimmy tentatively as he crossed the room to Thomas's side.

'Hmmm?' Thomas murmured absently, as he turned his attention back to the desk to begin tidying up.

'What happened last night…?' Said Jimmy.

'Oh, of course!' Said Thomas with a laugh. 'I was at the Bates's last night, so I wouldn't have seen you then either. It really _has_ been a while…' He said, looking teasingly up at Jimmy from his seated position.

Thomas's smile faltered a little as Jimmy's extremely poor poker-face betrayed him.

'What's wrong Jimmy?'

Jimmy chewed on his bottom lip and scuffed a shoe across the floorboard underfoot (something Thomas would have reproached him for under any other circumstance) before replying. 'I was just wondering…if there was a reason you didn't…' He trailed off into an imperceptible mumble.

'Didn't _what _Jimmy?' Said Thomas, leaning a little towards him and inclining his head up in concern.

'Didn't ask me too.' Jimmy reluctantly clarified in a gravelly whisper, looking everywhere but Thomas's eyes. 'You could have told Bates to invite me too.'

'Why would I do that?' Said Thomas frowning in confusion.

Jimmy blinked and took a step back. 'Really?' He said. 'Can you really not think of a reason?'

Thomas began to shake his head before realisation dawned on his face. 'Oh my God…' He whispered, looking up at Jimmy with a stunned expression.

'What?' Said Jimmy ill-humoredly, shifting about on his feet.

'I think you might have just out-romanced me.' Said Thomas. 'I never thought I'd see the day.'

Jimmy's brief flash of anger dissipated quite remarkably at the look of wonder in Thomas's eyes.

Jimmy sighed resignedly before speaking.

'I _know_ it seems silly. And I suppose…' He took a step back towards Thomas and crouched down on the floor beside his chair. '…it would have been a bit rude of you to insist on bringing a guest. But still…' Jimmy shrugged and sighed again.

'You wanted to be with me.' Thomas finished for him, risking a brief stroke of Jimmy's jaw. 'To be seen with me.'

Jimmy nodded, inclining his head a little to follow Thomas's hand as he withdrew it, putting Thomas somewhat in mind of the tabby cat in the Downton kitchens that was always demanding a good petting. Glancing out the door into the empty corridor beyond, Thomas consented to allow his hand to linger at Jimmy's chin.

'I weren't joking about the whole 'us being like a married couple' thing, you know.' Said Jimmy tentatively. 'Just in case you were wondering.'

Thomas's lips parted softly. 'I know…' He said, his voice developing a deep and husky edge. 'And I like it.' He trailed his thumb across Jimmy's lower lip, with an audible catch in both of their breaths as he did so. 'But you really really shouldn't say things like that when I can't kiss you.'

'Tomorrow you can.' Said Jimmy with a smile.

'Yes.' Said Thomas, pulling his hand away. 'Tomorrow. Yes, good.' He cleared his throat to ease a little of the tension that had built up within. 'It would be nice wouldn't it? You know, to be able to do all the other things that married couples do besides just...you know.'

'It is nice.' Said Jimmy wistfully, seeming a thousand miles away as he sat back on his heels. 'Going shopping, going swimming, and sharing meals, and walking and receiving visitors and…' Jimmy suddenly stopped abruptly, his eyes going wide in surprise at the words he had allowed to escape from his mouth.

Thomas's eyes also widened in surprise. 'I _believe _I am to assume you're not talking about me…' He prompted tentatively.

'No.' Jimmy whispered.

'That's him, isn't it…your Captain?' Thomas continued gently.

Jimmy nodded. 'But I really don't want to talk about…' Jimmy raised a hand to his face to wipe away a phantom tear out of reflex. 'Actually I've been meaning to sort of talk to you about that…In that I _don't _want to talk about that…'

'Right…' Thomas said slowly, a little confused by Jimmy's unstructured speech but managing to extract the gist. 'You don't want to talk about your ex.'

'Exactly!' Said Jimmy quickly. 'And I wasn't going to bring it up at all except…except you looked so sad when I didn't want to hear about your Lieutenant.' Jimmy rubbed absently at the back of his neck, looking down at Thomas's shoes. 'I wanted to tell you that…I was just worried that if we talked about him then maybe you might think that the door was open to ask me about…things. And I really don't want that. But I didn't mean to upset you.'

Without a word, Thomas sat back in his chair and allowed his head to loll back for a moment to give his cheeks and nose time to stop twitching, and to force his eyes to stop threatening tears, at the mention of Edward.

'Thomas…?' Said Jimmy's small and nervous voice from his position on the floor.

'Lieutenant Courtenay was never _mine_, Jimmy.' Said Thomas neutrally to the ceiling. 'He was a patient I treated during the war. A patient I was fond of. A patient that killed himself.'

'Oh…' Came the soft response.

For a short while there was silence between them.

'Thomas!' Said Jimmy suddenly, pulling himself up into a kneeling position by the side of Thomas's chair. 'Thomas!' He said again, raising a hand to tug on the fabric at Thomas's shoulder to get him to look back down at him. 'I can't think of a bad enough word to call myself…you'll have to think of one.'

Despite the lingering darkness of his memory, Thomas couldn't help but give a small snort of affectionate laughter at the fearful and childlike earnestness in Jimmy's eyes.

He lowered an arm to cup around the back of Jimmy's shoulders and lowered his own head to rest on top of Jimmy's in an awkward hug.

'You're just an idiot, aren't you Jimmy Kent?' Said Thomas, failing to resist the urge to bury his nose and mouth in Jimmy's hair.

Against his chest, Jimmy gave a relieved laugh. 'Idiot is about right.' He said.

As they drew back from one another, they found themselves quite accidentally with their foreheads resting together. The usual intense battle regarding how bad it actually _would_ be if one of them _just happened _to close the final few inches of distance between their mouths was waged entirely through their eyes rather than words on this particular occasion.

Jimmy took it upon himself to lean back and break the spell.

'So what have you been up to in here then?' Said Jimmy indicating the desk as he got stiffly up to his feet.

'Writing a letter.' Said Thomas, plucking a piece of paper off the desk. 'Do you want to read it?'

Jimmy's eyebrows formed themselves into a dubious furrow. 'I suppose that depends who it's to…?' He said slowly.

Thomas ignored his question and held the letter out to him. 'I'd like you to read it.'

Jimmy reached to take it.

'Do you mind if I sit down?' He tilted his head towards Thomas's bed.

'Probably best if you sit here.' Said Thomas dryly with a glance at the open door. He got up from the desk chair and offered it to Jimmy.

Jimmy settled himself down, grateful that Thomas stepped away to pace the floor of the room, rather than looking over his shoulder, as he began to read.

_Dear Sir,_

_Please accept this note from a humble King of your previous acquaintance. _

_Because I have a tale of success to share with you. One so implausible as to seem impossible; that is, had the lesson you taught me NOT been well learned. As it is, near every possible wish has been achieved._

_Upon my return I was warmly welcomed; in my new attitude, finding friendships where only a poor imitation of such had previously existed, respect, and now find myself unaffected by those few who wish me ill. Since our parting I have been reinstated to my rightful place, to the delight and satisfaction of those both hierarchically above and below me. And to the delight of my Queen, who was waiting for me as you so wisely assured._

_I have triumphed in all challenges and find myself eager for the future. _

_Your Grateful Servant, The King of England_

'What on earth, Thomas!?' Said Jimmy, looking sharply over his shoulder at Thomas in amusement.

Thomas smirked and walked over to stand at the back of the chair.

'The King of England!?' Said Jimmy with a snort. 'And whose this 'Queen', eh?' He continued, leaning his head back to look up at Thomas.

'Oh, I'm sure no one _you_ know!' Said Thomas with a giggle, playfully running his fingers through Jimmy's hair.

'It's happy.' Said Jimmy, still looking up at Thomas. 'I like it. But whose it to?'

'Remember that man I told you about. The one who looked after me.'

'You mean the one who…' Jimmy mimed poking himself in the ribs with his fingers.

'That one.' Thomas said with a nod. 'He said he only wanted me to write if I became the King of England. But I think how I feel now is close enough.' He reached forwards to take the letter back from Jimmy.

'No, wait!' Said Jimmy, snapping his head forwards to hunch over the letter on the desk, grabbing the pen that Thomas had discarded.

Thomas watched his back, somewhat dubiously, as Jimmy began to write.

'How's that?' Said Jimmy eventually, re-capping the pen before holding the letter up to Thomas.

_P.S. The Queen would like to extend gratitude also, from the bottom of her heart, for the safe return of the King. _

Thomas laughed, taking it from his hand. 'That's lovely.' He squeezed Jimmy's shoulder. 'He'll like that…but God you've got flowery handwriting.'

'I'm _supposed _to be a Queen, remember! Ain't that how Queens write?' Jimmy said, tilting his head backwards again with a grin.

They both turned abruptly at the sound of insistent throat clearing from the doorway.

They both worked hard to keep their facial expressions neutral as the sight of a mildly scandalised Mr Carson met their eyes.

'Mr Carson!' Said Thomas with a tiny bow. 'James here…' He gave Jimmy's shoulder a quick pat, deciding that emphasising the innocent nature of the contact would serve him better than trying to pretend he hadn't been touching Jimmy at all. '…has been helping me with a letter.' He waved the page in his hand in evidence. From his place in the chair, Jimmy nodded vigorously in agreement.

'Be that as it may, it's getting a little late for letter writing.' Said Carson pointedly, stepping back into the corridor to motion Jimmy out of the room.

'Yes, Mr Carson.' They both reluctantly chorused.

Jimmy rose and made his way quickly out into the corridor, trying to shoot Mr Carson a natural looking smile as he did so.

'Tomorrow.' Thomas mouthed at him while Carson's gaze was momentarily elsewhere.

* * *

**NOTE – To write the story as intended is important to me (and there is an ultimate 'point' to the story which will eventually become apparent), but I do not wish to make anyone uncomfortable in the process. So I would like to offer fair warning that things get progressively darker from here onwards, and aspects of 'slash' feature quite prominently in several key plot points (as with 'Self Interest' although along different lines). Appropriate warnings will appear on relevant chapters, but it's more the psychological side of things rather than the physical that will be disquieting to some. And some of them, especially towards the end, transcend the process of simplifying things into 'warning' summaries at the beginning of chapters. **

**Basically this is my ridiculously long winded way of saying that if you proceed beyond this chapter, please do so with caution. If you don't; it's been lovely to have you for this long! :-)**

**[Also, while I have your attention! I am so sorry for performing my usual trick of holding off on replying to reviews. But every single one that has been received is so appreciated (and some do wind up feeding into aspects of the plot) and I will reply to thank everyone once I have finished writing!]**


	33. Our Interest - Chapter 33

**Our Interest – Chapter 33**

At first Thomas wasn't sure if it was him or Jimmy.

That is to say, he wasn't sure if the inconvenient 'awakening' of his crotch area while on the crowded bus was down to Jimmy's preternatural abilities in the art of suggestion, or simply his own pent up frustrations from the previous weeks (which, he dearly dearly hoped, were soon to find release).

As Jimmy's knee continued to brush up against his, Thomas's eyes lingered on the hands that Jimmy held 'innocently' in his lap, his gaze travelling up the expanse of neck exposed by the deliberate tilt of Jimmy's head; Thomas was about ready to pull the bell, jump off the bus in the midst of the moors, and drag Jimmy behind the nearest hummock…booked hotel, luggage and any sense of propriety be damned…and just _have_ him.

His thoughts must have shown on his face.

He caught a maddening, sly half-smile playing over Jimmy's lips out of the corner of his eye.

_Oh you little bastard…_

Deliberately not looking at Jimmy directly, Thomas answered his challenge with a feral grin, conveying the unmistakable 'Oh just you wait' message. A grin that Jimmy couldn't fail to notice in his peripheral vision.

If the slight gasp that emerged from Jimmy's mouth (before being speedily covered up by a very convincing attack of coughing) was anything to go by, the message was well received.

The choice of location for their 'break' had been entirely of Thomas's choice, and he had eagerly chosen to visit the seaside town of Whitby, for reasons which he had promised to explain to Jimmy on arrival.

Despite this Thomas found himself angrily cursing every minute of the journey, every bump in the road, and especially every person who boarded or disembarked at the stops along the way causing delays.

Even upon arrival he seemed destined to remain frustrated. Having gotten on the bus at one of the earlier stops en route, their suitcases (not just for show this time given the extended time allowance for the trip) were right at the bottom of the stack and took an inordinately large amount of time to retrieve. Even worse, things had changed in Whitby since Thomas's last visit; including the location of the bus stop, and he found himself angrily stalking his way through several unfamiliar streets (an highly amused Jimmy in tow) before finding a familiar marker (in this case the harbor mouth) in order to navigate by.

He had previously imagined himself and Jimmy strolling leisurely along the harbor walls and neighboring cliff faces, with Jimmy suitably impressed by the views, as he spoke lovingly of summers past that had been spent at the beaches below…but the impulse of the moment was unable to accommodate anything save locating their hotel as soon as possible. Thomas reasoned that there would be plenty of time to take Jimmy for a walk round the town _tomorrow_. He didn't even pause to savor the stinging fresh saltiness of the coastal breeze as he stomped along the cobbles.

There was no man on front desk when they arrived at the hotel, and Thomas practically broke the bell in his desire to speedily alert the clerk of their presence. Jimmy gave a low chuckle at that, swaying slightly from side to side with an amused look in his eyes as he regarded Thomas's rabid frustration.

'Ah, how may I help you gentlemen?' Said a merry and rotund man as he emerged from the office behind the reception area.

_How do you sodding think you can help us? _

_Oh yes…we just thought we'd pop by this hotel in order to purchase a couple of sheep, get our hair cut, and ride the carousel…_

'We've a room booked.' Said Thomas levelly, forcing a smile onto his face. 'Name of Barrow, for two nights.'

'Of course, Mr Barrow!' Said the man, pulling out the bookings list with an entirely unnecessary flourish.

Thomas began rocking on his heels in agitation as the man trailed a painfully slow finger down the list of guests to find his.

'It's _such_ a beautiful hotel you have here.' Said Jimmy pleasantly, shooting the clerk a winning smile.

Thomas closed his eyes in exasperation.

The hotel did have a certain charm, but Thomas refused to believe that Jimmy of all people would find the décor and architecture (which truly did belong in the previous century) to be 'beautiful' in any sense of the word.

_Oh you little DEVIL!_

'Oh yes! We certainly like to think so!' Said the clerk, abandoning his search for Thomas's booking in his enthusiasm. 'Why you know…' The clerk leant over the desk a little as though sharing a great secret. '…in the early 1890s there was quite the…'

'Did you find the booking?' Thomas cut in, still maintaining a pleasant demeanor for the clerk but briefly shooting a warning glance over his shoulder at the mischievous Jimmy.

The clerk immediately turned back to the book. 'Ah, my apologies…!'

_I don't want your apologies. _

_I want the bloody key._

_Get on with it._

'Here we are!' Announced the clerk, making a flamboyant tick against Thomas's name on the list. 'You have number 7…' He turned away briefly to retrieve the key from it's hook on the wall as Thomas began practically hopping in agitation. '…there's a glorious view of the bay from that one!'

Thomas gave a brusque nod of acknowledgement, grabbing the key out of the man's hand the second it was within range. 'Thank you, we'll just be…'

But as Thomas bent down to retrieve his suitcase, Jimmy piped up again.

''It looks as though there might be some good boat-watching to be had. Are there many commercial boats that pass by here?' He said, his face the picture of polite interest.

Thomas, on the other hand, suddenly possessed all the social graces of a disgruntled urchin, reading the underlying mischief on Jimmy's face with _extreme_ irritation.

As the clerk opened his mouth to deliver what was almost guaranteed to be a long and highly anecdote laden reply, Thomas quickly grabbed his suitcase off the floor and strode purposefully to the door.

'Mr Kent!' He said sternly, going so far as to click his fingers (reasoning that the clerk would most likely deduce that he was Jimmy's boss or suchlike, and under the circumstances that wouldn't hurt). 'Come along.'

Jimmy tossed his head. 'Oh, but I want to hear all about…'

'Now!' Barked Thomas, before shooting an apologetic smile and nod of thanks to the clerk.

When they arrived at the room Thomas's mental faculties were just about able to perform the task of entering the room, pulling Jimmy behind him, shutting the door and turning the key in the lock before all logical consideration flew out the window.

With a guttural moan of relief, Thomas had Jimmy's back up against the nearest wall, almost falling over the suitcases that the two of them had immediately discarded upon entering.

Jimmy grinned devilishly. 'Well aren't we an…?'

Thomas cut him off, hard and without hesitation, with a crushing kiss.

It took Jimmy all of a second to abandon his teasingly unaffected demeanor and give over to his own primeval hunger, which rapidly proved to be every bit as ravenous as Thomas's as he returned the kiss with desperate fervency.

**NOTE - Sorry, sorry, sorry! The next bit was taking too long, so it was either split the chapter here or hold-off posting for another day.**


	34. Our Interest - Chapter 34

**Our Interest – Chapter 34**

**WARNING – EXPLICIT M/M SLASH relations this chapter. **

Thomas pulled back just far enough to allow him to pivot Jimmy around to face the wall, crushing him back up against it with his torso, desperate for any semblance of contact to tide him over while he attended to the urgent issue of the unwelcome presence of clothing on Jimmy's lower half.

Jimmy didn't protest the maneuver, or attempt to mock Thomas's shameless over-eagerness (the latter more telling than the former in terms of betraying his own levels of eagerness), giving an approving groan as he thrust his hands out in front of him to stop his face colliding with the plasterwork.

Once safely positioned against the wall, Jimmy immediately began trying (and largely failing) to speed things along in terms of getting his clothes off. Thomas and Jimmy's fingers grappled together ineffectively, resulting in Thomas giving a frustrated grunt and firmly repositioning Jimmy's hands back up to the wall before returning his own hands to the task in hand.

Jimmy consented to wait, forehead against the wall, panting as though already mid-way through 'the deed' for the painfully long seconds it took before Thomas to get his trousers open.

When Thomas had Jimmy's trousers and undergarments down to his knees and had succeeded in unfastening his own, a brief moment of stillness and reflection managed to interject itself amidst their thundering pulse-rates and desperate breaths as concern and paranoia crept into Thomas's mind.

With one hand on Jimmy's exposed hip and the other pressed over Jimmy's hand against the wall, Thomas fought to get ahold of himself enough to offer the appropriate courtesies.

_Should we slow this down a bit?...Move to the bed?..._

_Maybe…unpack or talk or something before?..._

Jimmy recognised Thomas's hesitation, branding it something along the lines of '_Adorable_' in his own head, before leaning back at an unnatural angle to elicit a slow kiss, a kiss completely at odds with the current fiery situation, in order to indicate that the present situation was perfectly fine by him.

He ended the slow, languid and gentle kiss with a vicious bite to Thomas's lip to make absolutely sure there was no room for misunderstanding about how he would like the situation to proceed.

Thomas responded with a sharp and hungry sound, pushing Jimmy back to face the wall.

Without further hesitation, Thomas immediately lowered a hand to Jimmy's backside and fought to open him up; reassuring Jimmy that the message about the desired tone of the encounter had been received by immediately proceeding with two fingers instead of one, and only with the assistance of a minimal quantity of saliva. Jimmy, naturally, ensured that his hips were canted and his thighs parted appropriately to receive Thomas's ministrations.

Jimmy's obliging submission lasted all of forty-five seconds.

'Bloody hell. In your own time, Thomas!' He choked out sarcastically.

Thomas lent forwards to give a light bite to his ear.

'Oh, like you're not enjoying this!' He whispered, twisting the three fingers that were currently inserted up to the knuckle in a way that couldn't fail to elicit a _very _loud response.

Thomas silently gave thanks for well-built, thick-walled nineteenth century edifices; and low off-season occupancy rates in coastal hotels.

'OH GODDAMNIT! Come on!' Jimmy demanded, his head thrown back to diffuse some of the tension that was rising up through his body.

Thomas did.

Pulling Jimmy slightly away from the wall in order to manipulate a decent angle for entry, Thomas then proceeded to brace the both of them back against it as the tensions that had marred the triumphs of the previous weeks could finally be properly acknowledged (not to mention ignited) and reveled in.

It lasted a surprisingly long while due to the indefatigable stubbornness of both men, who were willing to overlook the muscle strain, potential damage to clothing and general discomfort of the encounter in order to prolong the long-awaited moment of _connection _for as long as humanly possible.

The fact that there was a perfectly good bed (well, actually _two_ perfectly good beds) within striking distance and a whole two nights and a day left to play with was irrelevant at that moment. They were together and they wanted to stay that way.

And they managed to do so for an impressive amount of time. Even after Jimmy came, with an insistent helping hand from Thomas, the encounter continued. All sweat, swear words, and heightened sensitivity.

But eventually, Thomas was forced to concede that he was going to have to make a choice between either the pace or his heart giving out in the near future (a sentiment communicated to Jimmy in a series of inelegant, guttural grunts) and allowed himself to finish, deeply enveloped in Jimmy, with a triumphant euphoria.

As the world began to shift back into focus, Thomas wrapped an arm around Jimmy's chest to hug him against his own, leaning heavily on the wall.

'Well...' Jimmy eventually whispered. '…perhaps we should have brought more than one change of clothes…'

Thomas laughed, taking that as his cue to step back to allow them both to survey the damage, pulling up his trousers from their mid-thigh position as he went.

He almost managed to fall over the discarded suitcases in the process, drawing a high-pitched giggle from Jimmy as he stumbled.

Thomas humphed loudly and bent down to retrieve them in order to relocate the cases to a more suitable location than the middle of the floor, swaying slightly as he did so as the head-rush of orgasm and exertion began to slowly dissipate.

'You know…' He said in mock-sternness. 'Most men wouldn't accept being laughed at by a bloke with his trousers down.'

Jimmy laughed, bending down to peel off his trousers and undergarments from the indentations they had left round his knees. He let them fall to the floor, stepping out of the crumpled fabric before getting to work on the buttons of the (now _slightly_ rumpled and scent-marked) shirt, waistcoat and jacket that he still wore up top.

'Most men wouldn't accept being had up against a wall.' Said Jimmy brightly, throwing his shirt at Thomas as he crossed over to the wash-stand (mentally praying that there would be water already available in the jug as he didn't particularly fancy dashing across the hallway in the nude to get some).

'You are alright, aren't you?' Said Thomas, his voice suddenly full of concern as he clutched Jimmy's discarded shirt and stared after him.

Jimmy rolled his eyes, raising a leg up onto the chair by the washstand for better access as he picked up the waiting bar of soap (checking that both cloth and water were also to hand). 'What do you think, Thomas?' He said with an amused quirk of his eyebrow.

Thomas smirked. He gathered up the rest of Jimmy's discarded clothes and deposited them on one of the beds before beginning to remove and inspect his own clothes. 'I think that was bloody marvelous.' He said with a grin.

'Mmmhmm.' Said Jimmy with a devilish glint in his eye as his soaped fingers, and Thomas's eyes, traced a path down between his legs.

'I…um…' Words temporarily escaped Thomas.

'Yes…' Prompted Jimmy slowly.

'I hope you're not thinking we're finished here.' Thomas said, indicating towards the washcloth that Jimmy had just retrieved with his spare hand.

'No…we definitely are not!' Jimmy said with a laugh. 'I never thought I'd see you so eager, you know.' He threw the dampened cloth across the room to Thomas who, by some miracle, actually managed to catch it.

'I wasn't the one begging just now.' Said Thomas with a wink, moving over to join Jimmy by the washstand. 'Even though _you _were the one teasing to high heaven.'

'That's not how I remember it!' Said Jimmy. 'I just recall some stimulating discussion about this lovely hotel and…'

Thomas cut him off with a gentle kiss, briefly stroking a hand down the back of his neck. '…and yet you were the one begging for it.' Thomas finished for him, his eyes as merry as his grin was feral.

Instead of the expected denial, or humorous dismissal, Jimmy instead brought himself to stand in front of Thomas to whisper hauntingly in his ear. 'I could make you beg.'

Something in Jimmy's manner shifted, and the change was so palpable as to silence the jovial response that swam automatically to the front of Thomas's mind.

He suddenly found himself unable to do anything besides stutter. 'I…don't doubt that you could.'

Jimmy leaned in to touch the shell of Thomas's ear, giving a throaty and suggestive gasp before continuing. 'How about I go ahead and do that?'

Every inch of Thomas's exposed skin prickled at the electric and chilling aura that filled the air directly around Jimmy at his suddenly seductive and painfully suggestive demeanor.

But that strange sensation could not quite quell the necessary practical considerations.

'Do you mean you want to…um…?' Thomas began, blushing a little. 'Because I don't think I'm going to be able to manage a repeat performance for a while.'

The corners of Jimmy's lips quirked up as he began to back Thomas towards the bed. 'You'll manage.' He said with complete certainty.

The backs of Thomas's legs found the bed. He halted, looking quizzically at Jimmy with a distinct air of wariness.

'Lie down.' Said Jimmy, taking the washcloth (that Thomas had forgotten he was holding) and throwing it away somewhere behind him. He took another tiny step towards Thomas to whisper. 'Is that fear I see there? Surely not.'

Jimmy took a few steps away to retrieve the oil he had sequestered in his jacket pocket, still reveling in the burn from their earlier raw encounter but knowing what he had planned now would require a little something extra.

Thomas gave a nervous laugh as he sank back onto the bed, laying down on his back as if to go to sleep, staring at this strange, new, disquieting, but oh so arousing, version of Jimmy.

Thomas glanced down apologetically at his slumbering crotch area. 'I still don't see quite what you're planning to do about…'

He rapidly stopped talking at the sight of Jimmy climbing up and over him, with a single fluid motion, to straddle his thighs…facing _away_ from him.

'Oh!' Thomas raised himself onto his elbows in surprise, eyes and mouth wide, unable to quite process the sight he was currently being presented with. 'My God…'

Jimmy did absolutely nothing for a few minutes, save looking wryly over his shoulder at Thomas's wonderstruck expression as he looked, and looked, and looked again.

'Fuck…' Said Thomas breathily, suddenly realising he was once again sporting an erection. 'Well _that's _effective.'

Jimmy didn't reply, but reached around with a slicked hand to spread the oil generously (suspiciously generously) around and within his entrance.

The raven haired man underneath him temporarily forgot his own name.

As Jimmy began to lower himself, Thomas's hands reflexively raised up to grip the sides of Jimmy's hips, his eyes still utterly glued to the spectacle immediately before him.

He was left somewhat surprised when Jimmy 'missed' his target.

But as Jimmy repeated the motion, allowing Thomas's penis to slide up and down between his cheeks, Thomas rapidly became aware that the 'miss' had been deliberate. And he had to admit he rather liked this new sensation, helped along by the oil of course, and began to languidly roll his hips along with Jimmy's; still transfixed by the sight of him.

'That's nice.' He said, stroking his thumbs over Jimmy's lower back as he continued to lightly grip his hips.

Jimmy gave a low chuckle in response, slowing down the motion of his hips to increase the potent sensuality of the act.

As Thomas continued to watch his erection sliding down the cleft of Jimmy's backside, he became aware of a few 'near misses' whereby he would find himself pressing at the slightly more pliable dip of flesh that signaled the location of Jimmy's entrance, but not actually achieving entry due to the continuous rocking of Jimmy's hips.

The thought of entering him, coupled with the promise of such a good front-row viewing seat for the act itself, had Thomas suddenly impatient to move things along.

But the subtle movements of his own hips failed to achieve his aim, and Thomas's attempts to use his hands to guide Jimmy down were met with a only a shake of Jimmy's head as he glanced back over his shoulder to look down at the rapidly unraveling Thomas.

'Don't you think it's about time?' Thomas said throatily, maintaining his tight grip on Jimmy's hips.

'Time for what?' Said Jimmy innocently, the act was so good it almost had Thomas removing his hands and apologising to this strange young man that he had clearly misread (before his memory, and the reality of the current situation kicked in, and he kicked _himself_ for being an idiot).

'You know damn well what.' Thomas said, struggling to maintain calm as Jimmy began to deliberately localize the focus of his hip rolls so as to repeatedly tease him with the prospect of entry.

'No…I don't think I do…' Said Jimmy with a smirk, the 'fake-innocent' vanishing as swiftly as he had come. 'I think you need to tell me…beg me, one might say.' He began rolling his hips to their full extent as before, giving exaggerated moans of enjoyment as he did so.

Thomas lay below him, dumbfounded.

He tightened his grip on Jimmy's hips. 'And what's to stop me from just having it?' He said gruffly, suddenly ill-humored in his frustration.

Jimmy craned his head back slowly, his expression utterly unaffected, still maintaining the rhythm of his hips. 'Because you're a gentleman.' He said simply. 'And a gentleman always waits for permission.' He said with small raise of his eyebrows.

Thomas's grip relaxed. 'Damn you…' He whispered, despite his frustration still unable to tear his eyes away from watching Jimmy's arse. '…You're actually serious aren't you?'

Jimmy responded by briefly raising himself up to allow the tip of Thomas's penis to slide directly over his entrance.

'Oh Christ! Just do it, please!' Thomas blurted out.

He could have cried as Jimmy once again resumed the routine of allowing his penis to slide repeatedly between his cheeks.

'Jimmy…please…please just let me have it.'

Jimmy reversed the direction of his movement, teasing Thomas's erection in a slightly different manner, but was otherwise unresponsive.

'Oh God…tell me…tell me what I have to say. I'll say it.'

Nothing.

'Please!'

Less.

'Anything…Jimmy I swear to God, anything. Just please let me...'

Still nothing.

And it went on for some time.

'I've never wanted anything more than this…than you…and I never will…please!'

'Please let me have you.'

Jimmy, who seemed to have disconnected at some point in order to obtain a kind of spiritual meditative experience while rocking on Thomas's penis, finally took it upon himself to look back.

'Alright.' He finally said, shifting his knees a little to readjust his center of gravity (not that he needed to bother as the strength of Thomas's grip could have kept a man three times his size in position at that point).

'You sure?' Said Thomas, internally debating whether or not to show the tiniest lick of restraint once given free reign and consequently wanting to make absolutely positively sure that permission _had_ been received before commencing.

'I'm sure.' Said Jimmy, raising his arms up to cup the back of his head, stretching out his torso, abandoning control. 'Do it.'

In the split second that followed Thomas had a _very_ difficult decision to make.

He could either choose to take things slow and gently in the hopes of lasting longer…or he could take out every ounce of his pent up arousal on the dastardly tease above for all of the few seconds it would take him to orgasm once inside him.

Thomas chose the latter.

Not so much entering, as impaling him, Thomas bounced Jimmy so vigorously with his hands and upward thrusts that the bed itself shunted a good half a foot across the floor (thankfully _away_ from the wall) from it's original position.

Jimmy met everything that Thomas threw at (or should that be 'into') him and was able to muster up vigorous responses of his own. Providing _almost_ adequate penance for his earlier sins.

It lasted barely a minute, but the resulting release had Thomas dazed and disoriented for a good ten minutes after.

He began to piece himself back together as Jimmy climbed off him to (once again) attend to the task of washing, but he didn't even feel quite fully himself when Jimmy returned to the bed to lie down beside him.

'How was that?' Said Jimmy, smiling as he wrapped an arm around Thomas's waist.

Thomas laid his own arm around Jimmy's, resting his hand in the small of Jimmy's back.

'Fuck you, you fucking bastard.' He said, giving a sigh of exhaustion before leaning to kiss Jimmy's forehead.

Jimmy grinned, lowering his head to rest under Thomas's chin as he curled up to sleep.


	35. Our Interest - Chapter 35

**Our Interest – Chapter 35**

For quite possibly the first time in his adult life, Thomas found himself stirring in bed the next morning having woken up perfectly naturally with no sounds or immediate responsibilities to disturb him; that is, unless he felt the urge to do anything regarding the smaller man curled slumbering against his chest.

They stayed that way for a while; Jimmy asleep and leaning into Thomas, their light morning erections contentedly pressed together, while Thomas watched Jimmy's placid and peaceful expression and felt the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Lightly running his fingers along the contours of Jimmy's shoulder blades caused him to purr gently in his sleep, but otherwise Thomas was content to let him be.

'Mmmm…Good afternoon.' He said with a smile when Jimmy eventually began to show signs of consciousness.

Jimmy gave an incoherent groan, screwing his eyes shut against the bright sunlight coming through the window as he endeavored to bury himself under the covers.

Thomas followed him with an amused laugh, throwing the bed sheets up higher over both their heads as he groped for Jimmy's shoulders to steady him for a brief kiss. Jimmy murmured against his mouth, following when he withdrew to demand another quick peck on the lips, before speaking.

'Is it _really_ afternoon already…?' He said with another groan.

'Not by much.' Thomas smirked. 'And you are adorable when you sleep…it's just a shame about the rest of the bloody time.' He said, giving a light pinch to Jimmy's waist.

'Oh you…!'

Thomas couldn't quite see Jimmy's facial expression in the darkness under the bedcovers, but the indignant tone of voice was enough to make him snort with laughter as Jimmy set upon him.

A few moments of inelegant wrestling and a dislodged bed sheet later, Thomas had Jimmy pinned spread eagled beneath him. He grinned down at him in triumph, only to find himself seduced by the sudden lust in Jimmy's eyes.

Thomas quickly shook his head. 'Come on…' He said, crawling back from his position between Jimmy's naked thighs with extreme reluctance. '…we can't miss the whole day. Come on lazy.'

Jimmy grunted childishly and threw his head back down on the mattress, but finally rose to begin the morning (or rather, afternoon) routine when it became apparent that Thomas was serious.

'This had better be good.' Said Jimmy as he stomped over to find some clothes to wear.

Having missed the hotel service window, they were obliged to walk down to the harbor-front in search of some much needed sustenance. It was no easy task as most places were closed due to the time of year. During the walk the conversation began to flow more freely as Jimmy's grogginess and ill-humor at waking dissipated in the crisp sea breeze, and the later warm helpings of crusty pie (when they _finally _located an open pub that served food) were most welcome for both men.

Upon leaving the pub, they began to walk leisurely along the sea wall overlooking the bay.

Jimmy was forced to concede that the view was worth being conscious for, allowing Thomas to notch up his second victory for the day.

'So it was one of them, was it?' Said Jimmy, indicating at a set of small huts by the waterfront.

'It was.' Said Thomas, coming to a brief halt to take in the (now heavily dilapidated) set of buildings with a pang of nostalgia. 'Every bloody year for a while, always just after summer. It was only ever us and our mother…dad couldn't spare the time, he'd come on the train and make sure we got here alright then turn and head straight back home to keep working, then he'd come and meet us at the end of the week.'

'That's sad.' Said Jimmy softly. In response to Thomas's quizzical expression he clarified. 'I mean…going away without your dad.'

'Well you didn't know him.' Said Thomas with a wry smile, able to exercise a tiny bit of nostalgia there too even under the weight of years of bitterness.

'No. I didn't.' Jimmy agreed as they began walking again.

'Did you ever go away with your parents?' Said Thomas, raising a hand to his head to stop the treacherous breeze from making off with his trilby hat, silently cursing his vanity in having dispensed with the flat-cap that he used to wear. Jimmy was having no such trouble with his sensible flat-cap as he walked besides him.

Jimmy didn't respond to his question and continued walking slowly, hands clasped behind his back.

'Jimmy, I…' Thomas began, but he quickly fell silent as Jimmy gave a tiny shake of his head. Thomas wasn't quite sure if the head shake was supposed to be in reply to his question, or an expressed wish that the subject be dropped, but he received the message loud and clear that the topic was not open for discussion.

Thomas cleared his throat.

'So there…' He pointed over the sea wall to where the stone work of the sea wall melded into the cliff faces beyond. '…that's where I used to go and play if I wanted my mother's attention. She was so paranoid that those things that have stood perfectly happily for time immemorial would suddenly decide to come crashing down the second I was stood near them.'

Jimmy gave a laugh, glancing at Thomas's face before following his gaze down to the cliffs.

'Looks like some nice little rock-pools to be had there…' He said, glancing sideways at Thomas again. 'Who'd have thought it? The great Thomas Barrow making mud-pies and sandcastles.'

'None of that!' Said Thomas with a smirk. 'I'll have you know I spent my days playing catch with my brother.'

'Well that _would _explain the cricket prowess I suppose…' Said Jimmy.

'I imagine it might.' Said Thomas, frowning slightly as though the idea hadn't occurred to him before that point.

'Down to the beach for old time's sake then?' Said Jimmy as they approached a set of stone steps that led down to the sand.

Thomas glanced dubiously down at his shoes.

'Fuck's sake! You can't visit a beach without walking on the sand, now come on.' Jimmy pulled Thomas, who put up only token resistance, by his wrist down the steps.

Despite Jimmy pointing out that Thomas wouldn't actually damage his shoes at all if he took them _off_ and held them in his hand as they walked, and despite him removing his own shoes to illustrate that the act did not constitute an unacceptable level of indignity, Thomas refused point blank to do so; his smart shoes, like the impractical trilby hat on his head, were an undeniable marker of his progression in life and he was loathe to part with them, even in this place of anonymity and childhood memories.

'Suit yourself.' Said Jimmy with a shrug, rolling up the bottoms of his trousers a little before arranging his socks in his shoes to allow him to carry them in one hand. 'Shall we…!' He said, giving a mock bow as though escorting a countess into a ballroom before beginning to pick his way across the damp sand.

Thomas shook his head a little at the strange disjunction between the eager childlike clumsiness with which Jimmy tip-toed his way through the sand and his self-assured erotic dominance the previous night.

But Thomas didn't want to think too much on that. Not then.

_Possibly_ not ever.

He walked quickly after Jimmy, slipping a little and instantly aware of small stones in his shoes as he caught him up.

They walked down the beach side by side, nodding a greeting to the occasional dog-walker on the otherwise deserted sand flats.

But as they rounded a projection in the cliff face to enter a smaller neighboring bay…

'Oh!' Said Jimmy suddenly, looking up ahead. 'Sure there wasn't another reason why you liked coming here…?' He said, turning back to Thomas with a raised eyebrow.

Thomas glanced up ahead. 'Jimmy…I was _seven_.' He said with a frown, taking in the sight of a small gaggle of naked men gradually immersing themselves in the choppy water.

Jimmy leaned towards him. 'Thomas…I was joking.' He responded with a grin.

Thomas shook his head in disapproval. 'Thought there were rules to stop that sort of thing now…mind you, I suppose there's not many about at the beach in March…And what kind of idiots go swimming in the cold anyway? I mean, I know it's sunny today, but it's bloody cold in the wind…What?' He noticed Jimmy staring at him.

'Is that really all you have to say at the sight of a group of naked men?' Said Jimmy.

'Yes…' Said Thomas slowly, then he realised what Jimmy was getting at. 'Oh…' He said, putting on a comically good impression of sternness (which came out sounding disturbingly like Carson). '…well I don't generally go for that sort of riff-raff you know!'

Jimmy laughed. 'Well thank God you made an exception for me.'

Thomas turned towards him, a much needed retort dancing on the tip of his tongue, but Jimmy quickly segued into asking if he wanted to go swimming.

'Jimmy, I still haven't taken my shoes off…believe me, I've no intention of taking anything else off.'

'We've come all the way to the sea and you won't…'

Thomas cut him off. 'I like _looking_ at it. I really do. But I don't want to go _in _it. Not when it's cold and windy and…I just don't want to.' A familiar look of petulance began to descend over Jimmy's face. 'I like being here…' Thomas continued. '…because _other_ things don't seem quite so important where nature rules instead of people…'

'Then why don't you take your shoes off.' Jimmy cut in wryly.

'Because location doesn't change what matters to _me_.' Thomas responded immediately, firmly, and with his eyes on Jimmy's.

A poignant look passed between them that Jimmy felt compelled to break on account of the public location.

'Well…It seems I've got me a poet!' He joked.

Thomas smirked back at him.

'So…' Said Jimmy. 'How about we get you settled under the cliffs to face inevitable death by crushing while I go for a swim?'

'Do you not _feel _the temperature?' Said Thomas with an incredulous expression.

'I'm always warm.' Came the simple reply.

Later, long after the other bathers had collected their belongings and traipsed past to return to the town, Thomas enjoyed a leisurely cigarette as he rested with his elbows on the sand, watching Jimmy making the long walk back to him across the wide expanse of sand exposed by the receding tide.

The image of Jimmy walking naked up the beach, with the greying dusky sea at his back, put Thomas in mind of an old style (albeit naughty) holiday postcard; ensuring Jimmy would forever more be imprinted on his nostalgic recollections of the place.

Jimmy raised his hands to his head and gave a vigorous shake to his matted hair, sending water droplets scattering around him, as he looked down at Thomas.

'We didn't bring a towel…' He said slowly, eyeing the pile of his clothes that Thomas had leaned back to rest his head against.

Thomas laughed.

'No…_We_ didn't intend to go swimming.' He said as he raised the cigarette back to his lips.

'Bollocks!' Exclaimed Jimmy as he dropped down beside Thomas, his backside, legs and lower arms instantly becoming caked in sand.

'Well that won't help!' Said Thomas incredulously.

'It's fine…' Jimmy leaned back to lie next to Thomas. '…when I'm dry the sand will just brush off.'

Thomas took another drag on his cigarette. 'You _do_ realise that logic never actually works…'

Jimmy chuckled beside him.

For a while they lay in silence.

As Thomas discarded his cigarette and decided he might as well have another, Jimmy turned to him pensively.

'It's funny isn't it…to be able to be here like this.' He glanced down at his nudity. 'You know, without it being _technically_ wrong.'

'I think you'll find it is!' Thomas laughed. 'Blokes bathing suits are big business now, for the sake of decency and all that. Because that….' Thomas swept the hand holding the cigarette a few inches above Jimmy's waist. '…definitely ain't decent.' He concluded, before putting the cigarette back into his mouth.

'But you like me indecent, don't you.' Said Jimmy with a gentle smile, a hand playing over his naked chest. 'You like me like this.'

Thomas turned towards him to give an answering smile, removing the cigarette from his lips as he did so, only to find Jimmy's mouth suddenly latched on to his own.

'Bloody hell!' Thomas spluttered, breathing out the remnants of the mouthful of smoke he had inhaled as he looked frantically around them to check for unexpected voyeurs. Mercifully, they were completely alone.

'Bloody hell.' Thomas repeated, a little more relaxed, but sitting up to distance himself from Jimmy, who remained pressed into the sand, to discourage a repeat performance. 'You know if you wanted a drag on this…' He brandished the cigarette. '…you only had to ask!' He said, attempting joviality.

Thomas realised that Jimmy wasn't listening to him.

From his position on the sand, Jimmy stared off into the distance, a hand raised to cover his lips, deep in the midst of a thought process that Thomas couldn't even begin to guess at.

But he did look utterly stricken.

'Jimmy, come on…' Said Thomas. '…you know you can't do that. Not outside. It's a stupid risk to take…'

Jimmy suddenly snapped back to the present, turning to Thomas with a broad smile.

'Sorry, I just couldn't resist you!' Said Jimmy, a little hesitantly despite the bright expression on his face.

Thomas put the slight quiver in Jimmy's voice down to his wounded pride at having been rejected, dismissing even _that_ thought only a few moments after as Jimmy rapidly returned to his mischievous self.

'I think it's time I got these on…' Jimmy continued. He pulled at the bundle of clothes behind Thomas's back. '…and we get back to the hotel. Wouldn't you say?'

Thomas smiled at him, glancing down at the vast quantity of sand still clinging to Jimmy's skin. 'I think you're in for an uncomfortable walk…' He said.


	36. Our Interest - Chapter 36

**Our Interest – Chapter 36**

**WARNING – EXPLICIT M/M SLASH relations this chapter.**

Thomas was right about the walk.

The second he entered the hotel room Jimmy quickly stripped off his clothes again, shaking errant sand grains over the floorboards and vigorously rubbing to relieve the irritation of the crusty sea-salt coating across his skin.

Thomas, still in his suit and looking perfectly acceptable save the scratches marring his shoe leather, came up behind him to press his lips lightly against Jimmy's collar bone.

Jimmy was too preoccupied with scratching his stomach to give much of a reaction, but did drop his head back onto Thomas's shoulder when the later extended his tongue to trace a line up the side of his neck.

'Mmmm salty.' Said Thomas teasingly, unable to resist wrapping his arms around Jimmy's midriff despite the potential danger the sea-salt and sand posed to his suit.

Jimmy squirmed, working his hand free to continue to itch his skin. 'Either move those hands lower or get off!' He said dismissively.

Thomas gave a low chuckle.

He lowered a hand experimentally down Jimmy's front; finding, as expected, that his skin was dry and abrasive to the touch. Thomas licked at Jimmy's neck again, testing the palatability of the tastes of the sea. He decided he could stomach it.

'I've got a better idea.' He murmured, darting his tongue out to teasingly probe Jimmy's ear.

Jimmy stopped scratching.

'Um…that's…good.' He said in surprise, watching somewhat dubiously as Thomas circled round to drop to his knees in front of him.

Having no clothes to hold on to, Thomas instead raised his hands to curl round Jimmy's hips, resting his thumbs along the protruding line of his pelvis, as he moved forwards to take him in his mouth.

'Oh…' Jimmy exclaimed softly, taking a grip of the back of Thomas's head to steady himself, planting his feet more firmly against the floor.

With the best will in the world, Thomas could not find the initial taste pleasant, but he persevered; focusing excess saliva into his mouth as he made his first slow slides along the shaft of Jimmy's penis as he began to stir awake, he was able to work through the effects of the sea salt and begin to properly taste the skin underneath.

When the lubricating effects of his saliva had finally taken full effect on both the taste and the texture, Thomas set about swallowing and licking with a gusto that took Jimmy entirely off-guard.

Jimmy's moans increased in frequency, remaining soft and appreciative at first but rapidly gaining in both hunger and volume.

When Thomas took it upon himself to roll his tongue up and down a single localized spot under the tip of his penis, sucking vigorously as he kept it deliberately trapped between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, Jimmy couldn't suppress a loud exclamation of approval.

'Damn…Thomas…' He said as Thomas began to resume his smooth swallows of the entire shaft. '…where the fuck did that come from?'

Thomas paused before releasing him from his mouth and sitting back on his heels, rubbing a thumb across his lips to remove the sticky sheen that had accumulated, as he shot Jimmy a death glare.

'What…?' Said Jimmy, shaking a little in his arousal without the anchoring point of Thomas's head to grip for support.

'What kind of question is that?' Said Thomas gruffly as he clambered up off the floor and back up onto his feet.

'I was just trying to pay you a compliment…' Said Jimmy with a frown, fighting the urge to take himself in hand to finish what Thomas had started, but well aware that that would be deemed inappropriate conduct…at least until the inexplicable thunderclouds circling Thomas's mood had lifted.

Thomas shook his head in exasperation. 'How about next time you try to leave the man with the broken neck out of it, will you?' He hissed, turning away and taking off his jacket to hang it up.

'Oh Thomas, come on!' Jimmy said. 'That's not fair. I didn't mean it that way. It's just what you _say_ when someone's doing an unexpectedly good job.'

From his position facing the coat peg, Thomas let his head drop back with a sigh. 'Nice job last night Jimmy…where did _that _come from?' He said sarcastically to the wall.

Jimmy didn't reply.

Thomas left it a while before he turned around, his face flushing a little hot at the realisation that he had _slightly _overreacted to what amounted to little more than a poor choice of words on Jimmy's part.

The rustling of sheets as Jimmy sat silently down on the bed behind him was his only clue as to Jimmy's reaction, not that he expected for one moment that Jimmy would actually let him see the full force of emotion that his cruel words had stirred up.

When he turned he saw Jimmy sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning slightly forwards with his hands gripping the mattress either side of him. He looked forlorn but, as expected, not overly so.

'Can we just forget I said anything please?' Said Jimmy eventually, speaking quietly to the floorboards.

'I'm sorry.' Thomas whispered.

Jimmy shrugged.

Thomas crossed over to sit beside Jimmy's hunched form.

Jimmy looked up at Thomas's face brightly as he sat down.

'Jimmy…' He said hesitantly. 'Do we need to talk about your…_things_?'

Jimmy gave a smile and a vigorous head shake that quickly morphed into a kiss, taking Thomas by surprise in his eagerness.

'Calm it down. I'm not going anywhere!' Thomas said, raising a hand to Jimmy's chest to hold him at a slight distance.

'I know.' Said Jimmy, licking his lips. 'But please…'He leaned towards Thomas again, this time halting with his lips a tiny distance away.

With a moan, Thomas closed the gap, beginning to undo his trousers as Jimmy's nimble fingers got to work on his shirt.

After all, they _could_ talk about 'things' another time, and they _did_ only have one night left together…

Thomas found himself taken aback (and pleasantly surprised) by how placid and serene Jimmy suddenly seemed; watching as he slid himself up to lie on his back, opening his legs just enough to invite Thomas between them.

Divesting himself of his remaining clothes, Thomas accepted the invitation.

He initially braced himself on his arms to remain a few inches above Jimmy, but at Jimmy's insistent tugging on his shoulders and pleading expression he allowed himself to sink downwards to lie heavily on him, pushing Jimmy down into the mattress as they traded light but needful kisses.

'Further…' Thomas breathed out, referring to Jimmy's semi-parted legs as he raised himself just enough to get a hand to Jimmy's entrance. Jimmy dutifully spread them wider, otherwise remaining still beneath him.

'Thomas…?' Jimmy whispered.

Thomas caught the questioning tone, but Jimmy didn't continue onwards to the question itself.

Meeting Jimmy's gaze as he continue to stroke him from the inside, Thomas was slightly confused as to what he saw looking back at him.

Jimmy was looking..._open_. That was the only word that sprang to Thomas's mind to describe it. And not just in terms of his wide eyes or parted lips.

His eyes probed Thomas's, silently communicating a desperate and hopeful need. The kind that finds itself unsatisfied, even if met, should _verbal_ prompts be required.

'Oh, I do!' Said Thomas, suddenly understanding.

He leaned down and kissed him.

'I do love you.' He said.

Jimmy smiled up at him, beginning to take on a little agency in the proceeds by rocking his hips a little to encourage Thomas's fingers (and later, erection) to move inside him. But he otherwise remained subtly pliant, receptive, and submissive throughout the encounter. Offering nothing and demanding nothing, save for repeats of the sentiment of love, that Thomas was only too happy to confirm as he moved above him.

Jimmy went to rise off the bed the moment that Thomas collapsed down next to him, but found himself pulled back into a lingering hug.

'You are so amazing.' Whispered Thomas softly, kissing his forehead.

Jimmy smiled sweetly.

'Well this 'amazing' person needs to go wash…' He said, squirming a little to dislodge Thomas's arms. 'I promise I shall return!' He said in a comically grand voice.

Thomas laughed. 'Oh let this one go by, why don't you? The beds full of bloody sand and sweat anyway…' Thomas's voice grew a little gruffer as he trailed a hand down Jimmy's spine, continuing until his fingers slipped into the cleft of his buttocks. '…and besides…don't you like having some of me left on you…?' He said, beginning to dip his fingers lower.

Jimmy twisted violently on the bed, fixing Thomas's wrist in a tight grip to still his progress.

'Thomas. Let me go. NOW.' He demanded ferociously.

'Of course!' Thomas exclaimed, withdrawing his hands and body from the vicinity of Jimmy's as though burned. 'Jimmy, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…'

Thomas wasn't actually sure entirely what he didn't mean to have done, but he was spared from having to puzzle it out by Jimmy's brief reassurance after he climbed off the bed.

'It's fine, really.' Said Jimmy, crossing over to the washstand.

'Should I…come too?' Said Thomas, well aware he was in need of a spruce up but unwilling to extract his exhausted muscles from the mattress unless absolutely necessary.

'No, you're fine.' Said Jimmy over his shoulder.

Thomas didn't watch Jimmy this time, and Jimmy didn't go about the task as though being watched.

An uneasy feeling crept into Thomas's gut as he stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of sloshing water on the other side of the room, but he couldn't for the life of him pinpoint where to start in terms of addressing it. The level of contradiction and downright ambiguity in Jimmy's conduct the previous day began to make him feel nauseous in it's complexity as he allowed his mind to think on recent events.

But Jimmy's return, accompanied by a lingering kiss and a leg wrapped around his waist, pushed the thoughts to the furthest recesses of Thomas's mind.

Because they _did_ only have the night.


	37. Our Interest - Chapter 37

**Our Interest – Chapter 37**

'You're back promptly!' Said Anna pleasantly as she spied Thomas and Jimmy in the corridor the next afternoon.

'Yes, well…' Thomas briefly set his suitcase down to shrug out of his coat. 'I know Alfred will be eager to get going so…'

'Oh. He's not going now, actually.' Said Anna, shifting the bundle of fabric in her arms to avoid scattering the pieces over the floor.

'But he talked about seeing his mum for a whole day solid after Lord Grantham said he could have the time off.' Said Jimmy with a frown.

'It's Mr Molesley, you see.' Anna explained.

Thomas and Jimmy exchanged a nonplussed look.

'I'm afraid we're going to need more to go on…' Said Thomas slowly.

'He's taken ill.' Anna said, with a sympathetic grimace. 'His breathing was so bad that the Doctor recommended he be sent to convalesce…'

'Blimey, it's bad luck when we go away!' Exclaimed Jimmy before he could stop himself.

'Well…' Said Anna dryly. 'He's never been the healthiest of men, has he? It's a miracle that he wasn't one of those who got ill before; it would have probably put paid to him.' She grimaced again. 'So, anyway, now Alfred needs to stay here to see to Mr Crawley until Mr Molesley returns.'

Thomas clicked his tongue at that. 'Oh _does_ he now…?'

'Mr Barrow!' Said Carson gruffly from down the corridor. 'A word, if you please.'

'Right away, Mr Carson.' Thomas called. He set his case down on the floor before quickly asking Jimmy to wait for him at the bottom of the stairs and shooting a smile and nod of farewell to Anna.

To Jimmy's discomfort, Anna didn't leave.

He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, glancing repeatedly down at the two suitcases, under Anna's slightly amused gaze.

'Did you have a nice trip?' She eventually said.

Jimmy's cheeks instantly took on a dark pinkish hue.

He cleared his throat before answering. 'Very nice, thank you.'

Anna smiled gently at him.

'It's…um…good to be back and…' Jimmy groped for more words to say. '…it's nice of you to tell us the news, Mrs Bates.'

'Think nothing of it.' She said warmly before finally turning to leave.

Jimmy nodded quietly, picking up Thomas's case as well as his own to go and wait by the stairs.

Carson could tell Thomas was a little agitated by the overly enthusiastic flourish with which he shut the door.

'Am I to take it that you have somehow already heard the news…?' Said Carson gingerly.

'I believe I have.' Said Thomas, shooting him a look laced with as much disapproval as he dared.

'And you feel…' Carson prompted.

'I _feel_ that I should have been asked first.' Said Thomas firmly. 'And yes…' He quickly continued to silence Carson's obvious comeback. '…I am aware that acting as Valet to Mr Crawley would be a step down for me as an _Under Butler_. But still, I outrank Alfred…and apparently you're intending for him to continue in the job without having consulted me. And I refuse to believe you couldn't wait a day and a half in order to do so!'

'Mr Barrow, are you _quite_ finished?' Said Carson with a raise of his eyebrow.

'Yes…I suppose.' Said Thomas awkwardly, shrinking back into himself a little.

'Then allow me to tell you that Alfred has been asked, not yourself, purely because I and this household cannot spare you for the two days a week that Mr Crawley requires a Valet to accompany him on his business trips to Manchester.' Carson sighed softly, conceding with great reluctance. 'I find that there are perhaps…more responsibilities that are within your capabilities when it comes to the running of Downton. Both His Lordship and I are in agreement that you should be allowed greater control over certain aspects of the current managing of the household. It would not be conducive to have you away from the household on such a regular basis.'

'Oh…' Said Thomas softly.

'Oh, indeed.' Said Carson, disapprovingly. 'Now if you have no more questions…?

'What does this mean for Jimmy?' Said Thomas.

'It means that _James _will be expected to continue to perform his duties as usual, and will provide additional support during the times of Alfred's absence. You or I will take over the First Footman's duties in terms of service.'

'So he does more work for the same pay and _still _has to follow someone else around the dining table while Alfred gets to be First Footman, and Valet, and has regular two day breaks to Manchester…' Said Thomas.

'Yes.' Said Carson.

'I'm sure he'll be _thrilled_.' Said Thomas snarkily.

'Any further questions, Mr Barrow?' Said Carson sternly, making it clear that the brief license granted to Thomas in terms of disrespectful behavior had come to an end.

'No. Thank you, Mr Carson.' Said Thomas with a brief bob of his head as he left the office.

He found Jimmy and Alfred talking by the staircase.

'Alfred was just telling me the good news…' Said Jimmy with a very convincing imitation of good humor as Alfred beamed besides him.

'Yes, I hear congratulations are in order.' Thomas said as he approached. 'Well done Alfred.' He said, actually managing a genuine smile at Alfred's bright expression. 'From a Cook to a Valet, eh? Not a bad skill set you have there, Mr Nugent.' Said Thomas, causing all three of them to chuckle despite the unfortunate fact that only two of them had sufficient cause for merriment.

Thomas bent down to pick up his suitcase. 'If you need any help, you can come to me… I promise I won't try to mess you about like last time.' He said to Alfred with a wink as he began the slow climb up the stairs with Jimmy in tow.

'You mean you _did_ try to steer me wrong before?' Alfred called after Thomas in mock-surprise.

Thomas turned to smirk back at him before continuing on his way.


	38. Our Interest - Chapter 38

**Our Interest – Chapter 38**

A week later, something highly unorthodox happened.

It was a rare thing for the servant's luncheon to be disrupted, the middle of the day generally constituting a gentle lull between the frenetic activity of the mornings and evenings, but on this particular occasion it was doomed to be interrupted not once, but twice.

The initial disturbance came in the form of Lady Edith appearing tentatively in the doorway to the servant's hall; causing just about everyone to spill or drop something (bread rolls, cutlery, napkins…) as they propelled themselves to their feet.

In their surprised shock, more than a few bumped their shins against the table, causing the crockery upon it to rattle wildly.

Edith shrank back a little from the fuss, clearly reluctant to impose, but compelled by some urgent purpose.

'Lady Edith.' Mr Carson gave a deep bow. 'How may I assist you?'

'Well…' She spoke almost in a whisper, as though having forgotten what she had come for. 'I wondered if I might…borrow Mr Barrow for a moment.' She said anxiously.

Thomas did his best to limit the potency of the frown of confusion that creased his forehead as all eyes turned to him. Momentarily lost for words, he quickly maneuvered himself out from between his chair and the table.

'Of course, Lady Edith.' He said, quickly dabbing away the remnants of soup from the corner of his mouth.

'You may use my office.' Said Mr Carson to Thomas as he began to walk round the sea of quizzical faces to get to the door.

'Thank you, Mr Carson.' Said Thomas as he swept out into the corridor to join Edith, resisting the suddenly powerful urge to shoot a smirk over his shoulder at all the intently curious onlookers.

As almost always happens, the second interruption waited until just after the initial buzz had died down, and everyone had settled back in their seats, to make itself apparent.

Carson jumped up in surprise at the appearance of a strange man in the doorway to the servant's hall, causing the others to half-rise as well (just in case) despite the man's attire clearly not denoting a person that they would usually do so for.

The man blinked in surprise, momentarily stepping back as Lady Edith had done, before collecting himself enough to thrust a letter in Mr Carson's direction.

'Courier, East Moors Post…' He said by way of explanation. 'I did knock but…' He glanced around the table. '…But you lot are all _here_, so…'

Carson accepted the letter with a firm nod of his head, maintaining eye contact in such a manner as to assure the young man that lingering in hopes of a tip would be futile.

The courier took the hint, and made a speedy exit.

Carson stared disapprovingly after the ungainly man before glancing down at the writing on the letter.

'James.' He barked. 'For you, I believe.'

He handed the letter to Mr Bates to pass further down the table to Jimmy.

'But no one ever writes to you…?' Said Alfred with a frown.

'Thanks Alfred.' Said Jimmy dryly, staring in confusion at the letter, which on closer inspection appeared to be composed of multiple sheets of thick folded paper.

'We're you expecting something?' Said Mrs Hughes.

'No...I…' Jimmy said absently. '…I…I wonder if I might be excused, Mr Carson?'

Carson gave a stiff nod.

In a flash Jimmy was up, out of his seat, and making his way briskly down the corridor.

He didn't stop walking until he made his way out of the back door and into the yard, finally settling on the stone ledge around the woodshed to raise the letter to his eye level for closer inspection.

Alfred was right; no one ever did write to him. The sad truth being that there wasn't really anyone left _to_ write to him.

It was with extreme trepidation that he unfolded the pages.

The letter was typed, leading Jimmy to initially suspect, with intense relief, that he was in fact the accidental recipient of a circular letter (most likely of the 'begging' variety) rather than a personal communication.

Two lines in he realised that was not the case.

Three lines in his hands began to curl into fists, creasing the edges of the page.

Five lines in his balled fists slammed against one another, crumpling the pages between them.

He rose to his feet, controlling his errant breathing by sheer force of will as he stalked back into the house in search of the nearest fire place.

'It came in three days ago…' Said Edith, pacing the floor of Carson's office as Thomas made his way through the letter she had handed him. 'I haven't answered.' She said, somewhat redundantly. 'And I don't know how to proceed…or even if I ought to…' She shook her head vigorously from side to side, partially dislodging over an hour's worth of hair fixing in the process.

'But…' Thomas glanced up from the letter. '…this is _good_ news.'

'How can you say that?' She retorted, her voice rising to a desperately high pitch.

'He loves you.' Said Thomas, reasoning that her soliciting his advice permitted him to lapse somewhat in terms of propriety. 'You love him. And this alters everything…' He raised the letter up.

Edith shook her head again, this time miserably and without gusto.

'Well…' Thomas said. '…at the very least it shows that he had a good reason for not coming to visit before the benefit.'

Edith gave a bitter laugh.

'The man I love needed to bury his wife. If there was ever a good reason to miss an engagement, I'd say that's…' She trailed off, her face creasing up with the promise of tears.

'Why are you sad, My Lady? The two of you can be together now…in a way that them upstairs will accept...so why the sadness?'

'Because I cannot…' Edith sniffed. '…I cannot profit from another's misfortune. I cannot love him knowing that another woman had to die so that we could be together!'

Thomas caught the silent, unspoken, '_could I…?_' at the end of the sentence.

'It wasn't your fault, was it?' He said gently, stepping closer to her to hand the letter back, reasoning that the sight of Gregson's passionate scribbles might help matters along. 'You didn't wish her dead, and even if you did it wasn't your fault she died. Why should you deny yourself?'

Edith looked up at him, a slight hint of hope creeping in behind her eyes; which, for the present, had chosen to withhold their tears.

'Just look at me…' Said Thomas. 'I got the job of Valet to His Lordship when Mr Bates was sent to prison; it was no fault of mine that he got sent away, so why should I deny myself something I'd been working for my entire life? Why should I deny myself happiness purely to make some hollow gesture of solidarity that would do neither of us any good?'

'Yes…' Edith whispered, her eyes beginning to truly light up. 'Yes, that is _precisely_ it!'

'So…does this mean we'll have a wedding to attend to?' Said Thomas with a small grin.

Edith looked down at the letter in her hands, tears once again looking imminent, but for an entirely different reason.

'It might…' She said breathlessly. 'It just might. Oh my word…it really might!'


	39. Our Interest - Chapter 39

**Our Interest – Chapter 39**

As Jimmy hovered by the doorway to the servant's hall that evening, debating on whether or not to enter, a tin mug suddenly appeared in his peripheral vision.

'For you.' Announced Thomas from behind him, reaching over Jimmy's shoulder with the mug precariously suspended between his forefinger and thumb.

Jimmy wrinkled his nose at the overpowering smell of coco and scalded milk as he turned slowly so as not to risk jogging Thomas's arm. 'I…um…' He said, not making a move to take the mug. 'I don't actually like hot chocolate.'

'Oh…' Thomas drew the mug back towards himself, staring down at the identical one he held in his other hand, his mind attempting to solve the perplexing conundrum. Namely, if he ought to pursue obtaining another drink for Jimmy at the risk of his own becoming unpalatably cold. 'We could maybe get you some tea, or…?' Thomas trailed off.

'Just give it here.' Jimmy said, uncomfortably aware that their presence in the doorway had finally been noted by the occupants of the hall and eager to find a place to settle. 'Maybe Mrs Patmore makes it different to how I used to have it...' He offered unconvincingly with a slight grimace, settling the mug between his fingers to try to avoid contact with the hottest part of the metal.

'You know you don't _have _to drink that…' Said Thomas slowly.

'It's fine.' Jimmy responded quickly. 'So…do you want to sit in the hall?'

'I thought we might head outside…'

'You _can_ smoke in here you know.' Jimmy said, raising the mug slightly closer to his nose to test the smell; soon realising that, if anything, it actually appealed to him even _less _now as an adult than it had as a child. He quickly lowered it again, thankful that Thomas's gaze had been briefly redirected to give a nod of acknowledgement to someone in the servant's hall.

'True…' Said Thomas, turning to lead the way to the back door. 'But I want some privacy _and _a smoke...' He leaned in to avoid being overheard. 'Because _I've_ got a secret to share!'

Thomas set off down the corridor, taking a careful sip of the scaldingly hot contents of his mug as he did so.

With a slight feeling of trepidation tempering his delight at the prospect of having some time alone with Thomas (away from the piercing eyes of the household), Jimmy followed behind.

'Here we go.' Said Thomas as he sat down on the bench outside, popping his packet of cigarettes and mug of hot chocolate on the table in front. Jimmy went to sit on his left but, upon testing the direction of the wind, elected to sit on the right of him instead in order to remain upwind of the smoke that was soon to follow.

Thomas frowned a little as Jimmy finally settled next to him. He glanced down at the cigarette packet in front of him, reaching a hand out to fidget with it.

'The smoke never bothered you before…?' He said, half question, half statement.

'It doesn't.' Jimmy said quickly, setting his own mug down on the table in front of him. 'I just fancied…'

'God, what happened there?' Thomas cut in, staring down at the small shiny pink line of burned skin running from the base of Jimmy's little finger to his wrist.

'I was careless earlier.' Said Jimmy, flexing the hand nonchalantly to allow Thomas a better view. 'Wasn't paying attention by the stove.'

He declined to tell Thomas that he had gotten distracted while shoving something _into_ the stove.

'Does it hurt?' Said Thomas, reaching with both hands to gently stretch out Jimmy's fingers as he inspected the wound.

'Like I'm going to complain about something like this to a man with a hole in his hand.' Jimmy grinned.

'Oi!' Said Thomas in mock indignation. '_Used _to have a hole in his hand, thank you very much!' Thomas looked down at his gloved hand, his joviality rapidly diminishing. 'Looking at it now…you wouldn't believe how bad it was when it first happened.'

Jimmy curled his fingers to give a reassuring squeeze to Thomas's scarred hand before gently withdrawing.

'So…' He said with a slightly anxious sniff as Thomas lit up a cigarette. 'What's this secret?'

Thomas shifted in his seat to face Jimmy, his face lit up like an excited schoolboy. 'You remember all that business with Gregson and Lady Edith…?'

'Yes.' Jimmy nodded. 'I liked him, actually. It's a shame that he never…'

'No, no.' Thomas interrupted. 'That's just it…he's going to.'

Jimmy stared at him in confusion.

Thomas took a breath of smoke through lips curled up into an irresistible smile. 'His wife's gone and snuffed it. That's why he never came to visit last month like he was supposed to. And now he's written to Lady Edith…asking if _he might come and see her_.' Thomas said in a wry voice. 'Come see His Lordship, more like!' He concluded with a smile. 'I'll bet he'll do everything nice and proper now that he has the chance.'

Jimmy had to hand it to Thomas for (unknowingly) providing him with the one piece of news he could have brought himself to care about on that particular day.

'Well fuck me!' He exclaimed, immediately glancing around nervously in case his foul mouthed shout had been overheard despite being secure in the knowledge that Thomas wouldn't have dared to bring up such a juicy piece of gossip if there was even the slightest chance of eavesdroppers. As expected, there was no one there, but Jimmy lowered his voice anyway as he continued. 'That's brilliant, for both of them. When's he coming?'

Thomas gave a small shrug. 'Not sure yet, but soon I'd wager.'

'So I take it that was why Lady Edith wanted to see you at lunch?' Said Jimmy, reflexively raising the mug in his hand to his lips, forgetting what it held. He wound up suppressing a powerful urge to gag as the gloopy lumps of not-quite-melted chocolate swimming in milk made their way down his throat. Noticing Thomas watching him, he immediately mustered up a smile to hide his distaste.

'See, it's good isn't it?' Said Thomas rhetorically, raising his own mug in a mock-toast. 'Glad you like it!'

Jimmy nodded, silently cursed, and began making plans to _accidently_ knock the mug over.

'Anyway…' Thomas continued. 'Yes, she'd had a letter a few days ago and didn't know what to do about it.'

'Why would she hesitate?' Said Jimmy, leaning an elbow on the table and resting his head on his palm.

'Some noise about not wanting to profit from another's misfortune.' Said Thomas, wrinkling his nose a little at the sentiment.

'Ah…that old chestnut.' Grinned Jimmy. 'I tell you, I wouldn't be burdened with a noble's sense of honor even if it got me my own castle.'

'I'd find another way to get the castle...' Said Thomas with a smirk, cigarette poised at his mouth.

'I don't doubt that for a moment.' Jimmy said, leaning sideways to give Thomas a light nudge with his shoulder.

He contemplated knocking the mug over as he returned to his original position, but decided he might as well let it be for the present.

'How's your day been anyway?' Said Thomas.

Jimmy's smile became slightly fixed.

'It was fine.' Jimmy said with a slight toss of his head. 'Bit busy though.'

'I'm sure. Didn't get to see you at all until dinner!' Said Thomas with a raise of his eyebrows.

'Like I said…' Said Jimmy, waving a hand to dispel the evening gnats which were beginning to swarm around him. 'Busy!'

Thomas nodded, taking his time over the next drag on his cigarette.

'Jimmy…' He said slowly.

Jimmy's heart sank.

'…now that we're out here on our own, do you think perhaps we should have that talk?'

With a sharp sigh, Jimmy extracted his head from his hand and gave his thighs a quick slap.

'Alright…How about I solemnly swear to stick to just the basics in the bedroom from now on, eh? Would that make you feel better?' He said with a reproachful look.

'Now, now!' Thomas said, twisting his face into a comically scandalised expression. 'Let's not go being _too_ hasty…'

Jimmy managed to maintain his dark glare for a few more seconds before being forced to crease up in laughter at Thomas.

'It's just…' Thomas leaned next to Jimmy to press their shoulders together; as much contact as he dared to elicit. '…we've never really talked about…you know…' He coughed nervously, dispelling the itch in his throat with a final drag on the dregs of his cigarette. '…your…um…'

'Yes…I know. I believe you are referring to my previous, _previous_, employment.' Said Jimmy with a sniff. 'The words for it don't sound particularly nice to say, do they?'

'No they don't.' Thomas agreed quietly.

'Well…' Said Jimmy. '…I thought we _had_ talked about it. You know all the history; working out of a pub in the city center in Manchester then being taken on by Lord Anstruther as a Footman to the Dowager with a few 'extraresponsibilities' when he came to visit.' He shrugged. 'That really is all there is to it.' He risked a quick squeeze of Thomas's knee. 'And you can't deny that there are a _few_ benefits to be had.'

Thomas brushed Jimmy's hand away with a brief look of warning before softening his features.

'Yes, but…do we need to talk about it?'

'Well…what _about_ it do you want to talk about?' Jimmy countered.

Thomas slumped against the table.

'I don't know.' He admitted.

'Well then maybe we should shelf this discussion for now, eh?' Said Jimmy with a wry smile.

'But _is_ something bothering you?' Thomas said, watching Jimmy's expression intently.

'Only that I made you unhappy at Whitby.' Jimmy said quietly. 'I was trying so hard…'

'I'm not exactly blameless there.' Said Thomas, shifting about uncomfortably. 'I should never have had such a go at you for reminding me about the Duke. I do know you didn't mean to…and I think I knew that then…it's just…'

Thomas decided that he really really needed another cigarette before continuing. The conversation took a brief intermission while he brought a cigarette to his lips to light it.

'It's just…' Thomas continued. 'I was uneasy about what you'd done for me the previous night…not that it wasn't amazing, mind…and I suppose I was looking for a way of getting that out...in the open.' He sucked on the cigarette.

'So really, this talk is about your issues…not mine!' Said Jimmy teasingly.

Thomas gave a brief snort of laughter before raising a slightly shaky hand for another breath of smoke.

'You could be right there.' He said. Thomas gave a deep sigh and took yet another pull on the cigarette before continuing. 'Jimmy…' He began. '…should I have turned you down on the second night? I mean…you didn't really seem yourself. But it's so hard to read you sometimes…' Thomas's voice became impossibly small. 'Did I do the wrong thing?'

Jimmy leaned himself back, gripping the wood of the table to avoid falling off the chair, and stared up at the darkening sky.

'I wasn't feeling quite myself.' He admitted slowly. 'But you gave me exactly what I needed just then. And I'm very grateful to you for not turning me down; _that_ I would never have forgiven you for.' He pulled himself back upright to give Thomas a reassuring grin.

'_Why_ weren't you feeling yourself?' Thomas prompted gently.

As far as Jimmy was concerned, there were only two options available to him at that point; he could refuse to answer, or he could lie.

Jimmy wasn't willing to consider the third option.

But his subconscious did; leading him to accidently offer a truth, masquerading as a lie, that was far more potent and far-reaching than any genuine answer he could have consciously given.

'Because this is new territory for me.' He said, smiling warmly at Thomas. 'And I spend every moment that I'm with you worrying that I'll stopped making you happy.'

He took a sip of the vile and tepid chocolate drink in front of him and smiled.


	40. Our Interest - Chapter 40

**Our Interest – Chapter 40**

Thomas was doing his best to not look bored, he really was.

But he was never going to find the finer details of property and inheritance law interesting. Thus the chances of him being able to stomach someone talking about hanging idly by while someone _else_ discussed the finer details of property and inheritance law we slim to none.

Unfortunately, Alfred was utterly determined to relay the experience of his first business trip with Matthew Crawley to the entire complement of Downton staff…repeatedly.

Thomas tried to keep the grimace off his lips and the flaring of his nostrils at bay as Alfred once again regaled the servant's hall with tales of the excruciatingly mundane places he had visited.

'…and I thought he was just going to leave me in the car, but he said I could come into the house with him! So I got to go and have tea with the lady of the house while he talked over business with her husband, right in the parlor as well…'

Thomas lowered his head slightly to hide the crease in his forehead.

It was his own rotten luck that the servant's hall was empty save for himself, Mrs Hughes and the Bates's. There was no chance of being able to sneak out while Alfred was mid-flow (and he could hardly abandon the stock room lists that he had spread out on the table in front of him) and simply nodding quietly and allowing his mind to wander was equally impossible, given Alfred's endearing if annoying habit of constantly asking the odd question here and there just to check that his audience was on board with him.

'…terribly sad story there, you know. Their two boys died in the war, and their house is just going to ruin for want of young men about the place. Mind you, everyone on that estate seems to have their stories. There's a house where this woman cares for her mother, who's very sick, there's another house where the bloke lost his wife…and you know, that couple that lost both their sons, all they had was this really short letter…'

'What a cheerful place that estate must be…' Drawled Thomas, interrupting for as much Alfred's sake as his own (he was seriously starting to fear that Alfred may suffocate in his eagerness to relay the story, breathing only as an afterthought, and for his own part had absolutely no desire to re-visit the world of 'I regret to inform you…' wartime correspondence).

'I'm still wondering about that letter James received yesterday.' Said Mrs Hughes, taking the welcome opportunity to change the subject. Her simultaneous attempt to unsubtly inform Thomas (or to check to see if he _had_ been informed about Jimmy's mysterious correspondence) was not lost on Anna or Bates, who also turned to watch Thomas's reaction carefully.

'But no one every writes to him.' Said Thomas with a frown.

'You know what, that's _exactly_ what I said yesterday!' Said Alfred triumphantly. 'Now where was I…?'

Later that afternoon it took Bates a short while hunting through the upstairs corridor before he located Jimmy.

He found him kneeling down by the cabinet on the landing, in the final stages of restocking the emergency candle supply.

'James.' Said Bates curtly by way of greeting.

'Mr Bates.' Jimmy replied without enthusiasm, having been forewarned of his approach some time ago by the sound of his uneven footsteps.

'I think we need to talk about your letter, James.'

Jimmy jumped slightly before making a show of slowly and unaffectedly lowering the candles in his hand to the floor, craning his neck round to stare at Bates. 'It was a rubbish circular, nothing interesting I can assure you.' He said grouchily.

'Don't lie to me James, it tires me.' Bates retorted smartly, and with such conviction that Jimmy began to feel decidedly nervous, though he couldn't for the life of him think how…

'I've seen communications like that before, James. I know who sends them.' Said Bates, looking down at Jimmy with an expression full of disapproval and (even more maddeningly for Jimmy) a hint of pity.

'You're wrong.' Said Jimmy, shaking his head with a slightly manic grin on his face. 'Whatever you _think_ you know, you're wrong.' He gave a dismissive snort and turned back to the cabinet, gathering up the last bundle of candles.

To his intense frustration, Bates didn't leave.

'Alright…' Said Bates slowly. 'I do understand your reluctance to confer with me.'

Jimmy gave another snort of derisive laughter.

'But…' Bates continued. '…I think you should tell Mr Barrow.'

'Who says I haven't.' Said Jimmy, shooting a petulant look over his shoulder after succeeding in slotting the final set of candles into the remaining gap on the cabinet shelf.

'You haven't.' Said Bates, his look of disapproval and pity deepening further, much to Jimmy's chagrin.

'And how would _you_ know?' Jimmy grunted as he got up off the floor.

'Don't embarrass yourself, James.' Bates responded. 'You _haven't _told him.'

Jimmy yanked vigorously on the bottom of his waistcoat to straighten out his clothes. 'Well it's got nothing to do with Mr Barrow. So there's no reason to worry him.' He said, brushing agitatedly at the rest of his clothes to smooth them. 'And don't you _dare_ go telling him.

Bates gave a slight nod of his head. 'I concede that it is not my place to tell him.' He said, keeping his eyes fixed on Jimmy.

Jimmy gave a small nod of his own in return and went to move past Bates to continue on his way.

But he found his path blocked by a deft side-step.

'What have you _done_, James?' Said Bates, in a voice that was simultaneously dangerous yet gentle.

'It's nothing that _I've_ done.' Jimmy bit back. 'Now let me bloody pass.'

Bates didn't move.

Jimmy took an exasperated step backwards.

'What have you done?' Bates repeated.

Jimmy shook his head vigorously.

'James...?'

'It's _nothing_…' Jimmy cut in venomously. 'And it's got _nothing _to do with Thomas, and it's got _less_ than nothing to do with you. So keep your nose out of it!...And while we're on the subject of unwelcome busybodies, tell your wife to stop harassing me every bloody time she sees me!' He narrowly avoided shoulder barging Bates as he stomped past him.

'If by 'harassing' you mean her repeated attempts to engage you in polite conversation, then I'm afraid there's nothing I can do to help you.' Said Bates levelly at Jimmy's retreating back. 'Much as I have counseled her against associating with cold, obdurate, brats, she is her own woman and does as she pleases.'

Jimmy turned sharply, mouth open to retort.

But his brain refused to provide him with appropriate words to do so.

It was probably just as well that Bates had already disappeared down the staircase.

'Oh _fuck_ you…' He whispered to the empty corridor.


	41. Our Interest - Chapter 41

**Our Interest – Chapter 41**

Thomas had a few shaky moments while walking up the stairs that evening. He was used to the physical fatigue that came with being on the go from six in the morning until almost midnight, although he still maintained in his heart of hearts that no human should be expected to do so (despite his dreams of escaping service having long since flown), but he was not prepared for the strange feeling of disorientation (not to mention the pounding headache) brought on by the new task of pouring over figures and supply lists for near the entire day.

Mr Carson and Lord Grantham had certainly not been lying about bringing him into the 'inner circle' when it came to the responsibility for running the household. Thomas found himself finally appreciating Carson's intolerance for…well, anything…that interfered with the smooth running of things in a way that he never had while managing Downton during the war; not having made too much effort, if he was perfectly honest, to engage in the 'mundane' aspects of the running of the house. After all, at that point why should he? _He_ wasn't staff.

Thomas had thought his recent experiences during the 'egg-based incident' had given him as full an insight as it were possible to obtain…But as Mr Carson produced book after book and list after list regarding aspects of the household accounts and organisation, from the depths of a cupboard that Thomas hadn't even know existed, he soon realised he was wrong.

Throughout the day, Thomas had slipped into a deeper understanding of the burden Mr Carson carried, he suspected, largely alone due to Mr Carson's inability to ask for or accept help (such a thing being a sign of utter weakness, of course) even from the likes of Mrs Hughes.

But strangely, Thomas had to admit the work suited him. Over more recent years he had developed an affinity for precision and order in his own work-ethic as fierce as any that Mr Carson held, if a little more volatile and a little less polite in his general manner of addressing issues.

It came as little surprise that he was able to take equal pride in recognising coal invoices stamped with the wrong date as he had in noticing tablespoons out of place on the dining room table. And he had begun to quite enjoy getting to grips with the paperwork (aside from a brief moment of panic when he caught himself in the midst of puffing out his chest in a manner that was _far _too Carson-esque for comfort at the sight of an order that had been mistakenly issued twice) it wasn't until after he had gone over his work with Mr Carson and been dismissed for the night that the mental fatigue had clamped over his consciousness with a vengeance.

It was more by instinct than motor skills that he made it up the stairs that night, plodding slowly step by step with his vision blurring a tiny bit peripherally as his head began to ache.

Upon entering his bedroom he let out a loud groan at the sight of a pile of unfolded shirts sitting on top of his bed sheets.

'You alright?'

Thomas turned to find Jimmy following a short way behind him in the corridor.

'Sorry I…' Jimmy regarded Thomas's exhausted and disgruntled expression with concern. '…I saw you pass by my door and though I should come and say hello…but I…um…see that maybe this is a bad time?'

Thomas groaned again, leaning his head against the door frame for support as he smiled weakly at Jimmy.

'It's good to see you.' Thomas said, his voice croaky with fatigue. He sighed deeply as he turned back to the mess on top of his bed. 'I was just kicking myself for this…' He indicated towards the shirts. 'I pulled them all out this morning meaning to re-shelf them after dinner but…' Thomas trailed off, leaning more heavily into the wood of the door.

'But you forgot.' Jimmy finished for him with a sympathetic twist of his mouth.

'Mmmm.' Thomas purred in agreement, all but falling asleep on his feet.

Jimmy gave a small chuckle. 'Sit you down.' He said, pushing Thomas's shoulder forwards to extract him from the doorframe and indicating in the direction of the desk chair.

Thomas looked at him with as quizzical an expression as his exhaustion would allow.

'Go on.' Said Jimmy briskly, pushing him gently in front of him.

Thomas collapsed into the indicated chair. He leaned his head back a moment to close his eyes against the pain of the stiffness that had crept unnoticed up his back throughout the day, when he opened them again he found Jimmy half-way through re-folding his shirts.

'You're an angel.' Thomas croaked out with a dreamy and tired smile.

Jimmy beamed back at him, sweeping the now folded shirts off the bed with a flourish to replace them in the cupboard. Turning, he quickly crossed over to kneel in front of Thomas and began to untie his shoe laces.

'No…Jimmy, you can't.' Thomas said, experiencing a brief moment of lucidity as he glanced over to the open doorway.

'Don't worry!' Said Jimmy, glancing up at him. 'I'm only doing these…' He pulled Thomas's shoes off his feet. '…the rest you'll have to do yourself.' He winked at Thomas as he got up off the floor, carrying the shoes over to their place at the base of the cupboard.

Thomas watched him, a feeling of warm contentedness mingling happily with his tiredness.

'I was just wondering…' Jimmy began as he turned back to Thomas. '…if you have any experience of dealing with circulars?'

'Dealing with them…?' Thomas said.

'Yes.' Said Jimmy. 'It's just, I got a letter yesterday that was one of those silly rubbish circulars, and I'd like to make it so I don't get any more.'

'Oh…' Said Thomas absently. 'So that's what that was…' In response to Jimmy's frown Thomas clarified. 'Mrs Hughes said you had a letter.'

'Mmm, yes, it arrived just after you left with Lady Edith.' Said Jimmy. 'So…what would you recommend?'

'Um…' Thomas leaned forwards slowly to rest his elbows on his knees, nearly toppling himself forwards out of the chair in the process, willing his mind to work for just a few moments longer. 'I don't know…next time a post man tries to give one to you, maybe just tell him it should be returned to sender?' Thomas offered with an apologetic grimace at not being able to offer more help.

'Right…' Jimmy said with a nod. 'Thank you.'

'No, thank you.' Said Thomas, indicating the cupboard with a nod of grattitude.

'My pleasure.' Said Jimmy, with an exaggerated bow of his head. 'Now you, get some sleep!' He ordered teasingly as he headed for the door.

'I will.' Said Thomas warmly. 'Goodnight, Jimmy.'

'Night, Thomas.' Said Jimmy, smiling affectionately before disappearing into the corridor.


	42. Our Interest - Chapter 42

**Our Interest – Chapter 42**

'Yes but…which one do you _usually_ use?' Said Thomas, for the second time, in the vain hopes that repetition may elicit the desired clarity of response.

'We use _both_…' Said Daisy insistently, tapping on the table lightly in agitation at Thomas's slowness.

Thomas grimaced, setting his pen down on top of the pile of paper on the table in the servant's hall before raising his hand to his temple. He pressed against it in the hopes of relieving his imminent headache.

'We need them for different things you see…' Daisy continued, craning her head a little to keep eye contact with Thomas as he leaned his head onto his hand, elbow resting on the table. '…We need the _malt_ vinegar for things like the pickled beetroot or the pickled onions, but we need the _white _vinegar for the spired redcurrant jelly, or…I don't know… the spiced prunes!' Said Daisy earnestly.

'And do you _really_ use it by the pint?' Said Thomas slowly.

Daisy nodded firmly, her mouth set in determination. 'There's a lot of mouths to feed here, and things take so long to make, sometimes we have to do lots in one go.'

'Alright…' Said Thomas with a defeated sigh, turning his grimace into a small smile for Daisy as he picked up the pen again. 'Both it shall be.' He noted them down on the sheet and totted up the new total for the costing before continuing. 'But do you _really_ need the ground herbs _and_ the fresh ones…?'

Daisy shook her head in exasperation at him and grinned. 'You'd best be teasing me Thomas Barrow, I swear!'

Thomas chuckled and went back to the list.

From their position down the far end of the table, Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore exchanged an amused look at the sight of Daisy and Thomas conferring together, hunched over the order forms for the next week.

'Do you suppose we ought to lend a hand?' Mrs Hughes whispered softly, resisting the urge to giggle.

'No no.' Said Mrs Patmore, taking a sip of her tea. 'We all agreed the young ones need to learn to puzzle things out for themselves!'

While Thomas and Daisy slaved away into the evening, the other 'young ones' were having a far more leisurely night tucked away in the kitchens thanks to the rare absence of Mrs Patmore. Or at least, Alfred and Ivy seemed to be having a leisurely night, talking animatedly about something to do with the picture show they had visited a few days previous.

Their conversation might as well have been in a foreign language to Jimmy for all that he was able to contribute, having no experience (or interest) regarding picture shows in general and consequently nothing to offer except the odd glib remark that didn't seem to delight Ivy nearly as much as such comments used to. And looking at the direction of Ivy's gaze, fixed upon Alfred as though she were afraid he might bolt away any second and unwilling to miss a moment of him, Jimmy fancied he knew why.

Beginning to feel intolerably like a spare part (despite the presence of one of the Hall Boys pottering about in the background in the store room) Jimmy made his excuses and left them to it, sending a silent 'Good luck!' to Alfred as he left.

He walked slowly along the corridor to the servant's hall, wincing a little at the sight of Mrs Hughes sitting near the head of the table (although she seemed to be fully engaged with Mrs Patmore) as he approached.

Upon leaning round the doorway he found, to his annoyance, that Thomas and Daisy were still pouring over the order forms, and to his even greater annoyance that the Bates's were still present, sewing side by side, sitting a few seats down. And of course, as the law of sod would have it, it was the Bates's who looked up and noticed his presence rather than Thomas and Daisy.

'Do you want to take a seat?' Said Anna with a smile, indicating the empty seat next to her as she swept the sprawl of sewing equipment slightly to the side to clear the table top for him.

'Um…' Jimmy ineloquently began, his eyes reflexively moved to meet Mr Bates's expression. He looked coldly amused at Jimmy's hesitation, guessing his predicament of loneliness, and also his misgivings given the nature of the conversation they had had the previous week.

'No…thank you.' Said Jimmy, backing quickly away. 'Thank you but I have things to…' He pointed out into the corridor, not bothering to complete the sentence before turning on his heel and heading back to stand awkwardly by the door to the kitchens until such time as Mr Carson dismissed him for the night.

In the servant's hall, Anna turned to Bates with wry twist of her mouth. 'Alright, what have you gone and said?' She queried, the slight hint of reproach in her voice melting away almost instantly as she grinned at the comical expression of mock-innocence on his face.

'Sorry for leaving you out last night.' Said Alfred the next afternoon, stepping deftly past Jimmy as he continued carefully laying out the glasses for the dinner service while Jimmy labored over the placing of the cutlery.

'That's alright.' Said Jimmy, frowning at the slight gather in the tablecloth that had appeared between the spoons he had just finished arranging. With a low groan he swept the spoons back into a pile and pulled the tablecloth taunt before beginning all over again. 'It's nice to see you and Ivy getting along so well.' He said, briefly looking up at Alfred, who had made it halfway round the table, to give a suggestive raise of his eyebrows.

'Do you really think we are?' Said Alfred, pausing in his task to allow his mind to wander to Ivy.

'Don't be an oaf!' Jimmy exclaimed warmly, finally succeeding in his task and moving on to the next place setting as he chuckled. 'She can't take her eyes off you these days...and you know it! So no more of this fake insecurity bollocks.' Jimmy concluded, quickly glancing over his shoulder in the sudden fear that Mr Carson might have magically appeared behind him. Thankfully, that was not the case.

'It must be hard for you and Mr Barrow.' Said Alfred (once he had gotten over his brief compulsion to stand perfectly still, grinning like an idiot at the thought of what might be). 'You know, not being able to talk together like me and Ivy.'

'We _can_ talk, Alfred.' Said Jimmy slowly, before adding under his breath. 'Just nothing bloody else.'

'But I've hardly seen you together at all…' Said Alfred with a frown.

'He's just busy with all the new work from Carson, that's all. It'll calm down once he's done learning the ropes. Besides…' Jimmy gave a dismissive toss of his head. '…it's not like we broadcast 'we're heading out for a private chat in the yard' every time we have one. Otherwise we might get the likes of your Aunt listening in, or Mrs Hughes…even she seems to have it in for me these days.'

Alfred gave a sympathetic grimace. 'No…I suppose you wouldn't advertise it, would you?' He agreed. 'So…what do you and Mr Barrow talk about?' He continued, placing the final glass before turning to discard the tray and retrieve the menu cards from the sideboard.

Internally, Jimmy gave thanks for Alfred's enthusiasm for his new responsibilities with Mr Crawley; It gave him the ultimate 'trump card' of segue opportunities.

'Oh…well lately me and Mr Barrow have been talking a lot about your work with Mr Crawley. It's been very interesting to hear your stories…' Began Jimmy, mentally counting down to Alfred's inevitable interruption.

'It _is_ fascinating, isn't it!' Said Alfred enthusiastically. 'That estate I was telling people about the other day…well you wouldn't believe it!...But they haven't been paying anything to the landowner for _years_, apparently the person who used to own it was a right old eccentric and rich Marquess who turned round after the war and let them all off their rent…and never collected any since! Now they've gone and died and the heirs need to get the estate in order, so Mr Crawley has to step in…'

Jimmy nodded politely, and continued to do so next half hour, taking in the bare minimum of Alfred's words that enabled him to give the _appearance_ of rapt attention, interjecting every so often with the desired sentiment 'That's interesting, I'd like to know more about that…'


	43. Our Interest - Chapter 43

**Our Interest – Chapter 43**

The second courier was even younger and weedier than the first, so much so that the hearts of some of the more maternally inclined staff members went out to him as he tentatively peered into the servant's hall, this time having arrived right on top of breakfast.

'Yes?' Said Mr Carson gruffly, lowering the dripping-laden toast back to his plate with a highly unamused expression.

'East Moors Courier…that is, Courier, East Moors Post…I meant, of course.' The young man stuttered, holding out the letter in his hand to Mr Carson.

Mr Carson accepted the letter, giving it only the most cursory of glances after recognising it as the same sort that had arrived previously.

'For James.' He announced, passing the letter down the table towards him. '_That_ will be all.' He said, motioning for the courier to leave; the young man, initially rooted to the spot in fear of Mr Carson, rather than the hopes of gaining a tip by him like the other, quickly up and left on Mr Carson's instruction.

Jimmy tried to disregard the dark look in Mr Bates's eyes as he kept ahold of the letter a moment longer than necessary before surrendering it to Jimmy.

'Goodness, another letter…one might suspect you've gotten yourself an admirer.' Said Miss O'Brien smoothly, innocently sipping her tea as she disregarded the angry looks from both Thomas and Jimmy.

'Or perhaps he's just doing a Gwen!' Anna interjected before Jimmy could retort, most likely to say something he would regret.

'Who's Gwen?' Said Jimmy, thankful for the change of topic, but internally grimacing at the look in Mr Bates's eyes as he addressed Anna.

'She was a housemaid here.' Said Anna. 'She took a correspondence course by post to train to become a secretary.'

'Oh…' Said Jimmy, glancing down at the letter in his hand as though it were something akin to a slab of rotting maggot-infested flesh. 'That's nice.'

'We're all on tenterhooks James, are you intending to enlighten us?' Said Mrs Hughes from across the table.

'It's just rubbish.' Said Jimmy. 'It's just a circular…not meant for me, really…um…Excuse me!' Jimmy jumped up from his seat and strode purposefully over to the door, leaving a number of confused faces in his wake. Not Thomas however, who simply assumed (partially correctly) that Jimmy intended to follow his advice on dealing with unsolicited post…although he was slightly confused as to what kind of mix-up would lead to someone actually _paying_ a courier to deliver it.

'Wait!' Jimmy called as he ran out to the path, catching the courier as he began to wheel his bicycle away. 'Wait a moment!'

The courier turned, blinking in surprise at the sight of Jimmy running to catch him up.

'This isn't me.' Jimmy announced, holding the letter out to him. In response to the courier's bewildered expression he continued. 'I had one like this before, and it wasn't meant for me, you see. It's the wrong 'James Kent'…so this needs to be returned to sender.'

'But…' The courier continued to look at him in confusion. 'How do I do that?'

Jimmy wasn't sure whether to be glad or frustrated at having such an inexperienced man to deal with.

'Well you just take this…' Jimmy reached to open up the man's satchel to thrust the letter back in it, to make it clear that he would broke no refusal. '…back to the post master and tell him that 'James Kent' is not known at Downton Abbey. Then he'll tell the people who sent it. Simple!'

'I suppose…' Said the young man slowly.

'Brilliant!' Said Jimmy with a reassuring smile that was tinged with an undertone of feral ferocity to dissuade the courier from further hesitation.

'Right you are, mister.' Said the courier with a nod, before swinging his leg over the bicycle and pedaling away.

Jimmy watched the courier until he disappeared out of sight into the tree line.

At the point where he vanished, Jimmy closed his eyes and gave a deep sigh to dispel the pent up adrenaline that had his pulse thundering in his throat.

He turned to begin the walk back into the house, raising his hands to his head to correct the damage that the brief exertion had done to his hair as he went, anticipating his return to the prying eyes of the servant's hall with extreme trepidation.

He needn't have worried however; as Mr Carson had taken the opportunity of the brief disruption to announce that the Crawleys were to soon receive a guest at Downton, something which had caused a great deal of excited chatter.

Jimmy could have guessed the name of the guest without being told simply by the glee in Thomas's eyes as he re-entered the servant's hall, but Mr Carson was still on hand to gruffly inform him that Mr Gregson would be arriving the day after next, and that he _supposed_ that Jimmy could act as Valet for him during his stay, having served Mr Gregson previously, even though Jimmy _was_ only Second Footman, and that on no account was he or any of the other staff to gossip or speculate about what Mr Gregson's visit might mean.

Once released from his briefing from Mr Carson, Jimmy glanced over at Thomas who responded with a sly wink, playing the forefinger of his right hand over the base of the ring-finger on his left. Jimmy couldn't help but smile in response.


	44. Our Interest - Chapter 44

**Our Interest - Chapter 44**

The imminent arrival of Mr Gregson cause something of a conundrum for Robert.

On the one hand, this was the man who had tried to make a mistress of his daughter. On the other, this was a respectable man who wished to make Edith his wife.

Robert was under no illusions that his own actions would ultimately have managed to sway Edith away from Gregson, and was thus aware that his actions now (whether well-meant or otherwise) could do little to affect the outcome of Gregson's impending visit. That said, now that the matter was (almost) well and truly settled, it would behoove him to attempt to extend the hand of welcome with more enthusiasm than on his last visit. For this reason, Robert considered arranging a proper greeting party this time, with the precision arrangement of the full complement of staff along the driveway and the whole Crawley family waiting to greet Gregson in the hallway on arrival.

But such a blatant and over the top show of welcome (at least for a newspaper Editor) would almost certainly send the message that everyone in the house was expecting the visit to result in a proposal of marriage; despite the fact that the entire household _was _now certain that the visit would result in a proposal of marriage, the idea of imposing such a pressurised expectation upon their guest at the moment of his arrival was deemed to be highly improper and potentially catastrophic, especially should the man still be in a delicate state after the death of his previous wife…and no one in the house, least of all Robert, wanted to risk responsibility for any potential catastrophes being laid at their door.

It was a shame that Edith did not know that the entire household was hoping for her success (albeit, some for very different, sometimes selfish, reasons) as such a thought may have gone some way towards calming her anxieties as she waited for his arrival.

In the end, Robert settled on a compromise. He had Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes and Thomas standing on the steps along with Alfred and Jimmy (their presence being necessary to deal with the cases anyway) outside the house, while he, Cora and Edith waited to emerge from the hallway upon Mr Gregson's arrival. The others, Mary, Matthew and Tom would greet him later at dinner, with an appearance by Sybbie planned for the day after should she feel like behaving herself (assuming all went according to plan at dinner, of course).

The front door was kept ajar, the mid-March weather proving to be much kinder than had previously been anticipated. So nice, in fact, that Robert had briefly debated the idea of inviting Mr Gregson to walk with him in the grounds that afternoon, before immediately dismissing the idea as far too excruciating a prospect as he anticipated that Gregson would, as he had done previously, wish to discuss 'the great matter' with him after dinner. The idea of having to dance round the issue for several hours for the sake of propriety while walking in the grounds was highly unappealing.

Although, should the good weather persist, Robert made a mental note to suggest the idea for the day after.

Humming contentedly to himself, though peripherally aware of Edith's nerves, that Cora was doing her best to sooth with reassuring smiles (that didn't quite reach her eyes due to her _own_ nervousness about the potential for disaster), Robert gazed out through the doorway to the driveway, lawns and trees beyond.

His eyes then came back to the small group of staff waiting on the steps, in particular Thomas, Alfred and Jimmy. They were standing in the aforementioned order, honoring Alfred's precedence over Jimmy, leaving Jimmy standing on the end of the line rather than next to Thomas, something that Robert noted with an appreciative smile as small yet further proof of Thomas and Jimmy's commitment to upholding the standards of the household over their own personal situation. The three men were talking easily together, something which still inspired a feeling of pleasant disbelief in Robert every time he saw it, remembering the dark days and misunderstandings of the past.

They suddenly snapped to attention at the distant sight of a car pulling down the long driveway.

'Darling…' Said Robert gently, turning to where Edith and Cora were seated on the chaise longue, arm in arm for support.

Edith looked up in hope, though not yet belief, as Robert indicated towards the doorway.

She rose slowly, breathing deeply, and began to cross over to the doorway with Cora following close behind.

Robert was to remember the look in Edith's eyes as the sound of the car crunching over gravel met her ears for the rest of his life.

The dinner that night was somehow the most harmonious to have ever been had in Downton memory.

All around the table were secret smiles and happy anticipation. Edith herself was unable to look at Gregson (who couldn't take his eyes off her) and instead looked bashfully and delightedly down at the table in front of her, stealing the odd brief glance across the table to reassure herself that he was there.

The diners were eagerly discussing the economic growth that the 1920s had brought to America, a prime topic as it enabled the varying perspectives on economics and politics of those around the table to find a safe platform in discussion of something just far enough removed (except in the case of Cora, who found a kindred spirit in Gregson in his cautionary assessment of the sustainability of such rapid growth) from their current situation so as to inspire interesting debate but without the heat usually associated with such topics.

It also helped that everyone, unbeknownst to Edith, had been cautioned to be on their best behavior.

The most telling success in that regard was the almost total silence maintained by both Mary and the Dowager, the latter having been informed by a half-serious Robert that her presence at this particular dinner was contingent upon her promising to reign in her usual…conversational contributions…until such time as the 'great matter' was settled. Her eagerness to see Edith finally 'settled', in whatever regard that should come to mean, had the Dowager willing to comply with Robert's request…at least until the after dinner drinks.

As Jimmy and Alfred exited the dining room with the empty desert trays, they found Thomas (as he had been for the entirety of the meal) hovering excitedly in the side-room demanding updates. As part of Robert's efforts to avoid overwhelming Gregson, the idea of a serving Under Butler at dinner in addition to the Butler and two Footmen had been discarded, much to Thomas's chagrin on this particular occasion.

'He's making them all laugh…' Whispered Jimmy to Thomas. '…and Lady Edith can't stop smiling.'

'Robert liked something he said so much that he called him 'My dear fellow'…in a _good_ way!' Alfred added.

'Oh my word…' Thomas wrung his hands together, grinning back at Jimmy and Alfred before glancing sideways at the door to the dining room. 'I wonder if they'll let me do the after dinner drinks….could you ask Carson if I might do the drinks?' Said Thomas earnestly, though knowing full well it was a forlorn hope.

Both Alfred and Jimmy shook their heads and grimaced apologetically.

'I wonder…' Thomas said, staring intently at the door. '…If I might hear what's said in there if I press my ear to it…'

'Yes…and then you accidently push too hard and wind up sprawled on the dining room floor having interrupted Gregson asking His Lordship for Lady Edith's hand in marriage…' Said Jimmy dryly.

Thomas gave a humph of disapproval, but nodded in grudging agreement.

A short while later, Thomas jealously watched the backs of Alfred and Jimmy as they entered the dining room to quickly clear away the desert bowls, ahead of the inevitable 'Shall we go through?' question from Cora.

As the female occupants of the table began to rise, somewhat more slowly than usual in anticipation, Gregson piped up.

'Lord Grantham.' He said. 'I wonder if I might request a private audience with you…' Gregson looked over at Edith. '…there is something I _dearly _wish to discuss.'

Everyone tried their level best to act normally as Tom and Matthew obligingly rose from their seats as well in order to allow the requested meeting to take place. In the shuffle for the door, Edith's fearful gaze briefly met Robert's. Robert answered her fear with a nod of reassurance and a softening of his eyes that had been directed towards Edith far too infrequently over the years in comparison to her sisters.

As he watched Edith brighten at the long hoped for approval before turning and following the others out of the room, Robert realised (by means of what _should _have been a perfectly mundane and logical thought suddenly thrusting itself to the forefront of his mind) he was going to miss her.


	45. Our Interest - Chapter 45

**Our Interest – Chapter 45**

It was hard to say whether happiness or relief was the dominant emotion downstairs as Carson popped the cork out of the first of six bottles of wine that had been gifted by those upstairs (clearly also experiencing a heady mix of happiness and relief themselves) for the staff to celebrate the impending nuptials of Lady Edith and Mr Gregson.

The first couple of bottles did not last long due to the group effort of the downstairs staff; the next couple disappeared largely through the concerted efforts of Jimmy.

He wasn't sure quite what had come over him, his happiness at Edith's happiness, and Thomas's subsequent happiness, had been more than enough 'happiness' to have him grinning constantly and eagerly participating in the celebrations at first; lingering animosities temporarily on hold as the wine began to flow.

But somewhere along the way his mood had shifted, and he wasn't quite sure why. It could have been the sight of the twosomes forming around the servant's hall table, Anna and Bates, Ivy and Alfred, Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes, even Lee and Gill, and the knowledge that his own 'twosome' wasn't fit for public display. Or it could have been his (slightly contradictory to the former point) irritation at the way that Thomas was flitting around the servant's hall to fall into discussion with person after person, rather than spending the evening by _his_ side.

After all, didn't he and Thomas share a far better understanding of Edith and Gregson than any of the others; he with his role as Gregson's Valet, and Thomas through his friendship with Edith?

But no.

Thomas seemed content to stand by everyone but him.

A combination of staring darkly at Thomas while drinking without taking account of how much, and the unguarded wine bottles due to everyone _else_ being engaged in rapt conversation, had Jimmy imbibing far beyond his personal threshold (not that his threshold was that high to begin with).

Thus, when he spied Thomas leaving the servant's hall, Jimmy's mind could see no problem whatsoever in following after him to rectify the issue of lack of attention.

No one but Alfred paid much mind to him as he walked out, his attention being drawn by the sight of Jimmy momentarily stumbling over his own feet as he stepped out of the room.

Thomas had just finished replacing the ledger on the shelf in Mr Carson's office as ordered when the feeling of being watched prickled at the back of his neck. He spun round, seeing the shape of Jimmy standing in the doorway of the dark office, silhouetted by the light from the corridor outside.

'Jimmy…what are you doing here, eh?' Said Thomas with a smile, taking a few steps towards him.

The smile faltered into a grimace as Jimmy attempted to walk towards him but instead collided with the small table and chairs that Carson kept beside the door.

'Are you alright?' Said Thomas, quickly moving to help Jimmy right himself after the collision.

Jimmy twisted around as his knees buckled, dropping both of them to the floor.

'Ouch! Oh, bloody hell!' Grunted Thomas, frowning intently as he raised himself up on one hand to rub at his bruised tail bone.

Jimmy gave a strange keening sound and nuzzled against his shoulder.

Thomas stopped what he was doing, suddenly feeling highly nervous.

Jimmy laughed and leaned in to lick a wet and slobbering trail up the side of Thomas's face.

'What the hell!' Thomas shouted, before quickly lowering his voice to avoid drawing attention through the open office door. 'What do you think you're playing at?' He hissed.

'How 'bout the desk?' Said Jimmy, looping an arm around Thomas's shoulder. 'I'd prefer the desk, but I don't mind the floor.'

Thomas stared at him, fanning away the putrid stench of stale saliva and red wine with one hand while he wiped away the trail of saliva on the side of his face with the other.

'Or outside…I know, let's go out for a _walk_.' Drawled Jimmy slowly, emphasising every consonant as though speaking a complex secret code; which essentially amounted to a highly inelegant and unsubtle 'Let's fuck' preposition. 'There's got to be some grass nearby that doesn't belong to His Lordship…' He leaned in to whisper wetly into Thomas's ear.

'Jesus, Jimmy!' Thomas pulled back, holding him at arm's length by his shoulder. 'What's gotten into you?'

'Two out of the six bottles of wine by the looks of it.'

Thomas looked up to find Alfred standing by the office door.

Thomas's initial discomfort about how much Alfred may have overheard (and subsequent misinterpretations thereof) was rapidly quelled by a far more pressing issue.

'Alfred…' Thomas began, having to momentarily pause to make a grab for Jimmy as he almost keeled over sideways. '…could you see to Mr Gregson when he goes up? And…perhaps…_not_ tell Mr Carson about this...?' Thomas glanced down at Jimmy who was squirming (or rather, writhing) in his grip.

'Come on.' Jimmy slurred, leaning heavily against Thomas, seemingly oblivious to Alfred's presence. 'Just tell me how you want it…'

Alfred's eyes widened and he made highly uncomfortable eye contact with Thomas, attempting with all his might to ignore the grappling match going on between the two men in front of him as Jimmy made every effort to go for Thomas's trouser fastening.

'Of course. I'll tend to Mr Gregson.' Alfred nodded vigorously, attempting to blink away the traumatising sight in front of him. 'But…' Alfred continued reluctantly, eager to be away but aware that his services may also be required here. '…what are you going to do about him?' Alfred nodded towards Jimmy who had ceased in his attempts to undress Thomas and was now lolling sideways chuckling to himself.

'Put him in bed with a bucket next to his head.' Thomas replied dully. He slowly got to his feet, pulling Jimmy up beside him by the arm he still had looped around his shoulder. 'If you could make sure Mr Carson stays off the stairs for the next few minutes…?' Thomas said with a pleading look.

'I'll do that.' Said Alfred. 'You sure you don't need help carrying him though?'

'I'll be fine.' Said Thomas, pulling Jimmy's arm and giving a quick jolt to pull him fully upright. 'He's only little.'

The next morning, after heaving up congealed red wine into the bucket that had mysteriously appeared by the side of his bed, Jimmy tried with all his might to recall the events of the previous night; because he had a sick feeling in his stomach that was nothing to do with his physical nausea, and he had a horrible notion that it had something to do with Thomas.

His mind repeatedly conjured up a fragmented image of him attempting a clumsy seduction.

At first, Jimmy felt sure he could write that off as a dream. Recent events had forced him to make an even more intense effort than usual to fill his dreams with Thomas, so it was well within the realms of possibility that the 'memories' were merely the remnants of one such lucid fantasy.

But then, Jimmy was forced to conceded that if it _had_ been a dream the seduction wouldn't have been clumsy…and Thomas wouldn't have refused.

He pondered the issue all the way down the stairs as he headed to breakfast.

The look that Thomas shot him upon entering the servant's hall was all the confirmation he needed.

Jimmy sunk into his seat, willing Thomas to make eye contact with him again so that he could show his remorse; but Thomas kept his eyes firmly on his plate.

With a sigh, Jimmy began to poke at the bacon on his plate with a fork, stopping when he noticed the strange look that Alfred was giving him.

'What?' He whispered.

Alfred blinked, as though unaware he had been staring. 'Nothing. Nothing at all.' He said, before emulating Thomas's resolute determination to keep his eyes fixed on the plate in front of him.

Jimmy tapped agitatedly at his plate with the fork, drawing a few more strange looks as he did so, before firmly stabbing it through his poached egg, sending the gooey yolk streaming across his plate.

He watched the progress of the yellow liquid intently, and was consequently the last to know that two men had appeared at the doorway to the servant's hall.

'We're looking for a Mr James or 'Jimmy' Kent.' The taller of the two announced.

Jimmy's head snapped up.

'And you are?' Said Carson gruffly, ill-humored at being so rudely interrupted at breakfast for the second time in four days.

'Chief Inspector Jones, Manchester Police…' He indicated to the shorter but equally thin and sour looking man to his side. '…this is Inspector Locke. And we are looking for a Mr James or 'Jimmy' Kent.' He repeated in coldly measured tones.

Jimmy swallowed heavily, trying with all his might to avoid looking towards Thomas, but in the process winding up looking towards Bates; the only person round the table who was not the least bit surprised. Bates gave a small shake of his head.

Gritting his teeth, Jimmy rose from his chair.

'That's me.' He said reluctantly.

Locke looked him up and down before giving a poorly concealed snort of laughter. 'Of course it is.' He said, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

'We have some questions for you, Mr Kent, matters which need discussing.' Said Jones, shooting a warning glance sideways to Locke. 'Is there somewhere we might go?'

'You may take the Inspectors to my office, James.' Said Carson. His voice, though on this occasion quiet through confusion and worry, boomed throughout the deathly silence in the servant's hall.

'Thank you, Mr Carson.' Said Jimmy quietly, keeping his head down as he walked to lead the policemen out of the hall.

As the three men vanished into the corridor all eyes immediately turned to Thomas.

But Thomas was in no state to notice.

He was far too busy staring at the empty doorway in wide-eyed horror.


	46. Our Interest - Chapter 46

**Our Interest – Chapter 46**

Jimmy leaned himself back against Carson's desk to remedy his weak knees as he looked impassively at the floor ahead, past the legs of the two gentlemen standing opposite.

He obstinately refused, even in the face of the excruciating quiet, not to mention the figures of authority, to be the first one to speak.

He held the advantage after all; for all he cared they could stand there staring dumbly at him all day.

Despite an equally stubborn display initially, based on the logic that in most cases people tended towards feelings of unease during periods of silence, and consequently became more malleable; the Inspectors, having both a goal in mind _and _a pressing schedule, were eventually forced to concede in the face of the resolute hardness in Jimmy's dull expression.

'Since…' Jones began, enunciating his words sharply. '…you did not see fit to reply to the initial communication…'

'…and thought you could get away with returning the second.' Locke cut in.

Jimmy rolled his eyes, redirecting his gaze and the tilt of his head towards the ceiling. A seething anger beginning to creep in to dull his nerves.

'…we have been forced to attend you in person. I hope…' Jones mimed the closing of a mouth with the forefingers and thumb of his right hand as Jimmy went to retort. '…that you will take our presence here as an indication of the importance attached to the situation, and not attempt to insult us by claiming ignorance.'

Jones indicated with a sweep of his hand that Jimmy was permitted to speak.

Jimmy made sure to keep him waiting.

'I can.' Said Jimmy obdurately. 'Because it's _true_. I never read your letter once I realised what it was, because it's got _nothing_ to do with me…and that letter might have come from the police but it weren't 'official' by a long shot.' He added with a toss of his head. 'And I won't be taking part in any of it.'

Both Jones and Locke smirked at that.

'Mr Kent…James…' Said Jones. '…I assure you that the channels and authority we are operating under are completely 'official'.'

'Then why didn't I get an 'official' summons as witness?' Jimmy bit back.

'BECAUSE…' Jones shouted loudly to warn off Locke who had riled up at Jimmy's cheek. '….because, the situation is delicate and fragile and requires careful collaboration beyond simply demanding that you turn up in court on a pre-appointed date. This was of course all explained in the letter that you're pretending not to have read.'

'I have no bloody clue what you think you'll get from me on this.' Said Jimmy, shaky but still challenging, gripping the lip of the desk behind him for support, but also white-knuckling to dispel some of his rising rage.

'As you know, and as a former employee of Lady Anstruther you _do_ know…so don't feign ignorance on this account…The son of the Dowager Lady Anstruther fell under investigation for charges of gross indecency due to his…actions…during his brief stays at the Dowagers residence at Rochdale while visiting from the continent. As you _also _know, he answered the charges by leaving England to set up permanent residency in France, and the Dowager elected to go with him.'

Jones paused, waiting, watching Jimmy's expression carefully.

Behind him, Locke watched the proceedings with a highly amused look on his face.

Jimmy shifted uncomfortably. 'Alright…' He said gruffly, nodding grudgingly to concede that he had followed Jones's words thus far.

Jones gave a patronising and contented smile before continuing. 'But on the recent death of the Dowager Lady Anstruther…'

'What?' Jimmy cut in. 'She's dead?'

The color drained from his cheeks and there was a tiny quiver at his lower lip that even an old cynic like Jones couldn't put down to guile.

Jones regarded him strangely for a moment before remarking. 'So you really _didn't_ read the letter then.'

'Just the first few lines.' Jimmy admitted miserably before adding. 'How did she die?'

'What's that to us?' Said Locke with a dismissive snort.

'Anyway…' Jones continued. '…Lord Anstruther was obliged to return to England to settle some of her affairs, and we were finally able to put in motion the criminal investigation that was begun over two years ago.'

Jimmy nodded slowly, thrown and miserable, but still with enough left in his reserves of gumption to convincingly demand. 'But what's this got to do with _me_?'

'Well…' Said Jones, in a bitterly amused voice. '…what Inspector Locke here has been able to put together is a portfolio of witnesses from the…lower end…of society, who are able to testify as to the depths of Anstruther's perversity.'

Jimmy honestly couldn't think of a single soul of 'that sort' that he had met (or worked with) who would do so.

'Like who?' Jimmy blurted out before he could stop himself.

Jones quirked an eyebrow. 'I fail to see why the names would mean anything to you…' He said dryly. '…but the names are listed here, in any case.' He fished around in his breast pocket and produced yet another copy of the letter that Jimmy had been trying so hard to avoid.

After a moment's pause, Jimmy stomped forward a few paces to snatch it from Jones's hands, immediately returning to his perch on the desk afterwards.

He looked down at the letter, suddenly desperate beyond measure to read it, but not trusting his ability to keep a convincingly neutral expression while doing so…not if even some of what the Inspectors were saying was true.

'But the problem with the whores is…' Locke interjected, clearly having none of his partner's qualms regarding the use of that particular word. '…people might think they've been bribed or coerced you see.'

'You blackmailed them.' Said Jimmy. It was most definitely a statement not a question.

'We don't use that word in the Police force, lad.' Said Locke with a self-satisfied smile, his smugness at his own cleverness coming through in bounds. 'Besides, scum of that sort will do anything for money, won't they?'

'I wouldn't know.' Replied Jimmy, his voice hardening. 'But I do see what you mean…' He continued sarcastically. '…people just _might_ assume you've got your witnesses through improper means.'

Instead of riling angrily as he had expected, both the inspectors merely fixed him with an amused smirk; the look of men assured of both the moral high ground and the trump card over their opponent.

'So this is where you come in.' Jones said pleasantly, after an excruciatingly long pause. 'You see if a…' He gave another much smaller pause, his face briefly wearing a look of amusement akin to Locke's, before settling back into his apathetic professional demeanor. '…wholly respectable…young man like yourself were to inform the court of Anstruther's nocturnal rendezvous, then people might be a little more inclined to believe them.'

'I haven't done anything. Nothing like that.' Said Jimmy, shaking and abandoning all pretense of propriety (not that he had been trying that hard before); his levels of agitation now at a fever pitch. 'And why the _fuck_ would I willingly incriminate myself if I had?'

'But you _haven't_ done anything, James.' Said Jones with a slyly sweet smile. 'That is _precisely_ the point. Therein lies your appeal as a reliable witness. You simply…mmmm…perhaps admitted a certain type of man to the house at night, or perhaps found others present in the room when you attended Anstruther in the mornings…'

Jimmy sighed, the realisation of the full measure of the situation breaking over him like a wave.

And he fucking hated it.

'I won't do it.' He said.

'You will, James.' Jones responded. Jimmy shook his head, looking as contrary as a stubborn child. 'You will…' Jones repeated. '…because I don't think your current employer would look kindly upon a member of staff obstructing the course of justice.'

Jimmy burst out laughing at that. 'His Lordship won't look much kinder on a member of staff being involved in a buggery trial.' He muttered.

'Oh, there was 'buggery' was there?' Said Jones with a snort of laughter. 'Oh calm down…' He continued at Jimmy's suddenly indignant expression. '…the way I see it, we'd be doing you and your current employer a favor as much as you'd be helping us. What better way of proving that you had nothing to do with it than by helping the prosecution?'

'I'm guessing it doesn't work that way for the ones from the 'lower end' of society…' Said Jimmy quietly.

'They won't be arrested, and they'll be paid.' Said Jones simply, as though that were the greatest mercy any man could bestow on another. 'We can afford to let a few of their sort go by for the sake of a Lord.'

'You hypocritical cunts…' Whispered Jimmy.

'Would you prefer we arrested the others too?' Said Locke, watching Jimmy intently so as not to miss one bit of his conflicted reaction.

'Well I'm glad that's all settled.' Cut in Jones, returning to the same sharpness of his earlier manner of address. 'Now, James, open that letter and we can go over the details…In particular the trial date, which you _will _be attending.'


	47. Our Interest - Chapter 47

**Our Interest – Chapter 47**

Despite having remained in his seat on the far side of the table, Thomas still managed to make it out of the servant's hall ahead of Carson when the figures of the Inspectors passed by the open doorway on their way out.

Jimmy wasn't with them.

Or more specifically, Jimmy wasn't _leaving _with them.

The flood of relief at that realisation was enough to sweep aside all else as Thomas bolted out of the hall and towards Carson's office.

'Mr Barrow!' Called Carson, trotting behind him with his traditional prissy and upright canter (brought out only upon the rare occasion when speed was called for), forming quite a contrast to Thomas's broad strides and hunched posture.

Unsurprisingly, Thomas reached the office door first.

'Give me a minute!' Thomas demanded insistently, slamming the door in Carson's face.

Jimmy, perched on the edge of the desk, flinched at the sound of the slamming door.

'Are you alright?' Said Thomas, by his side in an instant to draw him into a firm hug.

Jimmy let out a shaky breath and briefly let himself revel in the warmth of the hug; suspecting there might not be many to come in the near future.

'No.' Said Jimmy, his wavering voice somehow managing to draw the word out into three syllables. He clutched at Thomas's arms and burrowed his forehead into Thomas's breastbone, finding a semblance of calm feeling his heart beats and inhaling the scent of him.

Behind Thomas, Carson vigorously swung the office door back open.

'Give me a minute!' Thomas repeated insistently, speaking into Jimmy's hair in his reluctance to let go even with the appearance of Carson. 'Please!' Shouted Thomas, his voice performing a similar feat to Jimmy's, cracking and dragging out the short exclamation into something guttural and pained.

The emotional punch behind Thomas's speech was not lost on Carson who, in an uncharacteristically humane act, directed his bewildered gaze to the floor and backed out of the office; closing the door behind him.

Carson was immediately faced with Mrs Hughes in the corridor, who met his eyes with a similarly bewildered expression.

'Do you have any notion what that was about?' She said.

'No, Mrs Hughes…' Carson replied. 'But I trust Mr Barrow to find out.'

'Jimmy…what the hell's happened?' Thomas said, his breathing now more erratic that Jimmy's as the latter calmed against his chest. Thomas ran a hand up from Jimmy's shoulders to grasp gently at the hair on the back of his head. 'Jimmy?'

'The Dowagers dead…' Said Jimmy miserably into Thomas's shirt front, momentarily confusing Thomas as to which Dowager he was referring to. '…so Anstruther came back to England…' Jimmy sniffed, desperate for a handkerchief but even more desperate to maintain his current position for a few more moments. '…and they've put him on trial…and I have to be there.'

'Trial for what?' Said Thomas gingerly.

'You _know _what.' Replied Jimmy bitterly.

Jimmy could feel the wince in Thomas's arm muscles.

Thomas pulled back to regard Jimmy's face. 'Does this mean you're in trouble as well…?'

Jimmy sighed, stepping sideways to fully extract himself from Thomas, releasing his grip on his upper arm last of all (and highly reluctantly) before moving past him to pace the floor of the office, whipping a handkerchief out of his pocket as he did. His fingers briefly brushed against the third letter that he had secreted inside his pocket, but he decided that at present he could do without admitting to Thomas that he had several advanced warnings prior to the Inspectors arrival.

'I'm not…actually.' He said, sounding as though he were trying to convince himself as much as Thomas.

'Alright…' Said Thomas slowly. 'So why do you have to be at the trial?'

'I'm a witness.' Said Jimmy, holding his arms out to the sides with a theatrical twist. 'A _wholly respectable _man…' He gave a sweeping bow, rising with a highly unamused look on his face. '…who apparently, through absolutely no fault of his own, happened to chance upon his Mistresses son dishing it out to male prostitutes on a regular basis.'

Thomas frowned, both at Jimmy's demeanor and his words, wondering if there was something he had missed.

'But…Jimmy, that's _good_ news.' He eventually said. 'I mean…doesn't that mean that they haven't found out about…your…um…' Thomas trailed off, giving an apologetic grimace.

'They know.' Said Jimmy, finding Thomas's coyness about the subject highly irritating under the circumstances. 'They just don't care in this instance.'

'How could they know?' Said Thomas softly, becoming a giddy at the speed with which Jimmy paced circles into the office floorboards. 'And have they _told _you that they do?'

'Call it an educated guess.' Jimmy retorted bitterly in response to both questions.

Thomas watched him stalking about the room, becoming increasingly alarmed at the vigor with which Jimmy was doing so; rubbing at his mouth and furrowing his brow deep in thought.

'Jimmy…' Thomas stepped into his path to force him to come to a standstill. 'This is alright. Isn't it? If what you say is true then you just have to turn up, say your piece, and be done with it. It couldn't be more simple. I mean…you _are _something of a master of lying by omission…' Thomas said, voicing the last part as a fortuitous fact rather than a reproach.

As Jimmy bristled in irritation, Thomas worried that his words had been taken the wrong way. But it seemed that Jimmy was not in the least bit concerned with Thomas's opinion about his skills in the art of half-truths.

'Simple…' Jimmy muttered to himself with a vacant and disbelieving smile. 'Simple, he says.'

'Jimmy, I didn't mean…' Thomas began, trailing off in the realisation that he wasn't quite sure what he _had_ meant, and that his enthusiasm for the situation reaching a speedy resolution _was_ perhaps more for his own sake than Jimmy's. 'I, um…I know this must be complicated for you…' Thomas offered.

'Don't make believe.' Jimmy said. 'You don't _know _anything.' He swayed a little on his feet in his desire to get back to pacing out his pent up aggression round the office.

'Then tell me.' Said Thomas.

Jimmy sighed, some of the venom draining out of his expression.

'Later, alright?' He said.

'Jimmy, we're going to run out of 'later's at some point.' Said Thomas softly. 'We don't do well with 'later'.'

'Well not _now_, in any case.' Said Jimmy grudgingly. He sniffed and raised a hand to scratch at his head as he set aside issues of emotion and morality in order to begin to ponder the practicalities. 'So, do you think I should talk to Carson first or His Lordship…?'

Thomas's mind instantly turned to Robert, but then his eyes swiveled towards the door with a highly-strung Carson waiting beyond.

'Um…'


	48. Our Interest - Chapter 48

**Our Interest – Chapter 48**

Thomas glanced sideways at Mr Carson and found the sight amusing in spite of the circumstances; the man could not keep still, and his nervous fidgeting was such a contrast to his usual sullenly poised demeanor that Thomas felt it his duty to observe and mentally store the visual for future reference. (Most likely to serve as an antidote the next time Carson found a reason to scold him.)

Carson was having some intense troubles dealing with the current situation. Thomas had managed to bamboozle him into allowing Jimmy to make his way to the library to discuss the matter with His Lordship first, knowing full well that reference to 'His Lordship' and his authority in extreme cases of staff issues (like, say, the police turning up) were the two credos that Carson absolutely would not and could not argue with. Thus Carson was left to stand with Thomas in the corridor outside, maddened by his ignorance, fearful of what horrors His Lordship might be having to face without his help.

At one point, Carson span on his heels, nose in the air, looking for all the world like an excitable (albeit very large) woodland creature. Thomas couldn't help it; he laughed.

Carson immediately fixed him with a fierce and indignant stare, but couldn't quite carry off the appropriate level of menace as his hands continued to nervously wring themselves together.

Inside the library, alone with Lord Grantham, Jimmy was stretching his skills in careful editing, omission and outright untruths to the limit. Despite this, rather unsurprisingly, there were a number of points on which a slightly bewildered Robert required clarification.

'So you have received an official summons?' Said Robert with a frown.

'That's right. I'm called as a witness for the prosecution.'

'But you say _you're_ not…in trouble?' Robert's frown persisted unabated.

'I am simply called upon to relay what I have observed while a Footman in the Dowager's household.' Said Jimmy, his voice totally neutral.

Robert closed his eyes a moment before deciding that despite the early hour, he was well within his rights to dive into the liquor on the side table. And under the circumstances, a double measure was more than justified.

Jimmy waited patiently while Robert filled his glass.

Knowing exactly what was coming.

'James…' Said Robert slowly as he raised the glass to his lips, pointedly avoiding eye contact. '…you gave myself and Mr Crawley to believe that you…continued to indulge in your earlier improprieties while under the employ of the Dowager.'

Jimmy swallowed, but maintained an easy and un-phased air. 'I don't deny it, My Lord, although I'm sure the details are not necessary.' He glanced at Robert, who gave a quick nod of agreement. 'But I assure you I _am_ simply called upon to relay what I have observed while a Footman in the Dowager's household.' He repeated. 'It allows me to distance myself from any accusations of involvement…it's good.' The last word contained acrid bitterness, but Robert failed to notice.

'But surely Lord Anstruther would simply have his lawyer call you out on it?' Said Robert, still looking highly dubious.

_He wouldn't._

'It wouldn't exactly _help_ his case to do so, would it?' Said Jimmy with a tiny shrug.

Robert gave a small murmur of agreement at that as he took another deep swallow of his drink.

'James…' He began again, even slower than before, but this time forcing himself to look in Jimmy's direction. '…I did mean what I said before, about believing you are an asset to this household. And to that I do hold. Nevertheless, I'm sure you will agree that I have gone above and beyond what could possibly be expected given your circumstances…'

Jimmy started to feel distinctly nervous, but showed none of it in his face; merely adding a hint of apology to his expression, preempting Robert's inevitable speech.

'…I was, and continue to be, content to overlook your past indiscretions. Particularly in the face of you evident commitment to this household…and to the welfare of Mr Barrow. But I cannot…and make no mistake about this James…I cannot risk the reputation of my household for the sake of a Second Footman who has been entirely the instrument of his own undoing.'

'I'm called to speak as an impartial observer.' Said Jimmy quickly, deliberately skirting over the main crux of Robert's disapproval. 'If anything it will reflect well on Downton that one of your staff is helping the course of justice…especially on such a sensitive issue.'

Robert smirked a little at that. 'You ought to have gone into law or politics, I think.' He said, raising a dubious eyebrow at Jimmy's words.

'My Lord, this won't impact on the household at all. I swear it.' Said James; the one true belief (or earnest wish) that he had vocalized since their meeting began). 'I just…I felt it important to let you know what was happening. Because I do owe you so much, and I want to do right by you and the household.' The words may have been true enough, but the quiver of his lip and the gather of water in his earnest eyes was an entirely calculated gesture.

It worked though.

Robert took a much smaller sip from his glass this time, his shoulders relaxing a little in a gesture of grudging acquiescence.

'I think we ought to consult with Mr Murray on this, James.'

'There's no need.' Said Jimmy reassuringly, bolstered by Robert's tentative acceptance of the situation. 'The Inspectors and I went through everything this morning, and we'll meet again before the trial. I know what's expected of me in terms of my statement, and it doesn't in any way incriminate me.'

_Or your precious household…_

'James are you sure you know what you're doing?' Said Robert carefully. 'You realise that lawyers have a way of twisting things in court…?'

'A lot of money and time has gone into making this trial happen, My Lord.' Jimmy gave a slight agitated twitch of his head, before quickly redoubling his efforts to maintain a reassuringly easy going demeanor. 'The witnesses for the prosecution won't be given any trouble. It's Lord Anstruther that they're after, not us.'

Robert nodded, seemingly satisfied. But his lips pressed together unhappily at a moment of private recollection as he turned to look out of the window.

'This is a bad business.' He said, talking more to himself than to Jimmy. He sighed at the view through the window, his mind releasing a long shelved image of a young Patrick Crawley running across the grounds with a few select friends in tow; one of whom being the auburn haired Anstruther. 'He always seemed like such a nice child…and I know he cared a great deal for his mother.'

Just out of Roberts's line of sight, every feature of Jimmy's face was briefly naked misery. But he fought hard to suppress the _inconvenient_ urge to cry in time to receive Robert's mournful gaze with a respectful and sympathetic smile.

'I didn't know you knew him, My Lord.' Said Jimmy quietly.

'Only as a child.' Robert responded dismissively, the spell of nostalgia broken as speedily as it had formed.

'It _is _an unfortunate situation my Lord.' Said Jimmy carefully. 'But in terms of my part in the trial and the implications for this household; it couldn't be more simple.'

He finished with the kind of smile that gets away with fare evasion, short-changing and being caught with a man in a back alley under suspicious circumstances.

Robert nodded again, taking a few deep breaths before indicating that Jimmy should let Thomas and Carson into the library.


	49. Our Interest - Chapter 49

**Our Interest - Chapter 49**

**WARNINGS for (relatively mild) M/M slash this chapter**

_The hair LOOKED black...Jimmy tried to ignore the way it shone brightly rather than absorbing the light. It LOOKED straight and pomade slicked...Jimmy tried to ignore the way it felt wavey and feather soft to the touch. The lips LOOKED like Thomas's...Jimmy tried to ignore the Borough accent they spoke with. The person LOOKED like Thomas..._

_But despite Jimmy's best efforts, the person WASN'T Thomas; not in smell nor feel nor mannerisms._

_With a defeated sigh, Jimmy let his head drop back against the wood of the table, shifting a little under the weight of the man labouring between his legs. He glanced sideways at the seated observers spaced around the table, who quickly shifted in appearance from scandalised members of Downton staff to annonymous and impeccably dressed men of the upper classes._

_'So how's the wife?' Jimmy quietly whispered with a grin to the man above him, who immediately changed in appearance from a tenuous 'Thomas' into a man slightly taller than Jimmy, but in skin tone, facial features and hair, as good as a carbon copy of him._

_'Ugh!' Said Timothy, hiding his comical grimace by leaning forwards to bury his nose in Jimmy's shoulder. 'Bloody insatiable at the moment.' Tim rocked Jimmy's hips up slightly, enabling him to simultaneously keep thrusting while bending forwards to talk privately into Jimmy's ear. 'They don't tell you to expect that from a pregnant woman.' He said with a breathy titter of laughter._

_'Yes, I heard...' Grunted Jimmy, his speech and breathing a little impaired by being almost doubled up beneath Tim. 'Is that why you're back in the game then? You need more money for the baby? Oh...!' Jimmy was momentarily distracted by a particularly targeted thrust. 'Try and avoid that spot for now, eh?' He said._

_Tim chuckled into his ear. 'As you command. I'm clearly too efficient at this for my own good!' He said, giving a playful nudge to Jimmy's cheek with his nose. 'And you're sort of right about the baby...although at the moment it's more for the wife. She's bloody eating us all out of house and home at the moment!'_

_Jimmy laughed in response, taking a moment to wrap his legs round Tim's back to take more control of the angle of penetration, as the latter lost concentration while answering the question._

_'Nah...' Tim continued, keeping his voice low. 'What we're wanting to do is get our own place you see. I don't think neither of us could stand staying with my mother and aunt once the baby comes...'_

_'Mmmm.' Jimmy gave a small nod of agreement. 'I remember you talking about them... Well, it's nice to have you back. You're by far my favourite partner you know.'_

_'Aw...' Said Tim in exagerated affection. 'The feeling's mutual my dear!' He said, giving a jovial slap to Jimmy's thigh. 'Besides, the way you look, I might just as well be fucking myself!'_

_'If you were a bit more handsome perhaps...' Said Jimmy with a smirk, earning himself a vigorous and blindingly deep thrust in response. He lay there and tried to hide his laughter against Tim's chest, raising a hand to run through Tim's identical blonde hair to conceal their faces from at least one side of the table until their merriment had abated._

_'Doesn't the Old Lady ever get suspicious about how much extra work you suddenly have when Anstruther visits?' Said Tim. Pausing for a moment, ostensibly (as far as the observers were concerned) to nuzzle appreciatively at Jimmy's neck, Tim took a brief break to get his breath back._

_'She likes to give me the opportunity to improve myself by Valeting for him.' Jimmy responded, patting the back of Tim's head as he rested. 'And it's nothing unusual for a nobleman to have a few friends round of an evening, is it?' Jimmy glanced around the dinning room, which had been temporarily transformed into a den of iniquity. 'And I am a Footman after all...it's my job to serve the drinks!' Jimmy said mischievously. 'Besides, it must be harder for you to explain to your wife where you go so late at night...?'_

_'Mmmm. She does get a little suspicious.' Tim agreed, mumbling into his chest. 'But the money helps keep her quiet.' He snorted. 'There's just needing money and needing money when you're living in a private home, even though we're not the ones who bloody own it. I work almost every hour God sends at the sodding food stall, but the money doesn't even come close to what we need. You know, it's a cushy arrangement you've got here Jim.'_

_'Cushy!?' Jimmy whispered with a grin. 'At least you GET to go home of an evening, even with your mother, aunt and wife breathing down your neck...I don't get ANY time off! AND I've still got Anstruther to deal with when you all go home. I mean, look at you...' Jimmy tousled his fingers through Tim's hair messing it up in a way he knew irritated him. '...you look ready to drop already! Am I too much for you dear?' He teased._

_'Oh, I'll show you 'too much'.' Laughed Tim, raising his head up from Jimmy's neck to begin the process of reseating himself inside him._

_Jimmy glanced sideways without moving his head to the group of noblemen surrounding the table, some eagerly, others nonchalantly, observing the spectacle; but they were most certainly all watching._

_He turned back to Tim, motioning for him to lower his head again. Tim complied._

_'Do you ever wonder...' Jimmy whispered. '...what they must imagine we're saying to each other?'_

_Tim smirked. 'I suspect they would be sorely dissapointed if they found out!...Now come on, time to wrap this one up.' He said guiding himself back inside._

_Jimmy inhaled deeply as he did so until the feeling of being impossibly stretched abated._

_'Oh, I suppose I could muster up a few fake moans for you, you know, make it look like you're a proper stallion...' Said Jimmy softly, poking the tip of his tongue through his teeth in jest._

_'Oh ho! Is THAT how it is?' Tim smiled evily, leaning forward one final time to whisper. 'Like I don't know you well enough to get REAL ones...'_

_Tim winked, drawing back to drag Jimmy's hips up, hooking Jimmy's legs over his shoulders._

_'Ah!' Jimmy exclaimed, more than loudly enough for the observers to hear, throwing his arms up to rest stretched out above his head to surrender to the sensations._

_But not before sending a teasing wink of his own in Tim's direction._

Jimmy's eyes came open to the darkness of his attic bedroom, the sounds of Carson's sonorous snoring emanating into the room from down the corridor in the dead silence of the night.

Jimmy chewed on his lips for a moment, staring upwards until the cracks of the ceiling came into focus in the gloom, his breathing slightly labored through his nose.

Raising a soothing hand to his forehead failed to quell his agitation.

With a resigned moan, Jimmy rolled out of bed to sit on the floor.

He pulled the Inspector's letter from the drawer of his bedside table, the thick paper now soft and malleable in his hands upon yet another re-perusal of the contents.

It was too far too dark to read, but in the tiny hint of light under the door, from a distant lamp down the coridoor, he could just about make out the shapes of particular words and phrases. He had already read it so many times that the connecting words were deeply entrenched in his mind, rendering the physical letter almost obsolete.

But he 'read' it again anyway.

On this occasion, the point where he knew the typeface spelled out the words _Timothy Hall _under the section 'Persons listed for the prosecution' caused him particular misery.


	50. Our Interest - Chapter 50

**Our Interest – Chapter 50**

'We're losing you and no mistake!' Exclaimed Thomas as Jimmy's jaw unhinged itself for a powerful yawn for the third time in as many minutes. 'You'd best stop that or you'll set the two of us off as well.'

Jimmy groaned, raising an elbow up onto the table in the servant's hall to prop his head on. He shot an apologetic grimace across the table at Thomas, who sat opposite, before turning in his chair to do the same to Alfred who sat by his side. 'Sorry…' He slurred. '…I didn't sleep very well last night. And…' He glanced down the table to make sure that Mr Carson hadn't suddenly re-appeared from the post-dinner drinks service. '…it's so bloody late.' He shot a pointed look up at the clock.

'You know the rules.' Said Thomas with a sympathetic, albeit teasing, smile. 'We can't drop until _they _do.'

Jimmy groaned again, raised his other elbow onto the table and buried his face in his hands.

Thomas couldn't help but smile at the display. He glanced up from Jimmy's bowed head and found Alfred sporting a similarly affectionate grin.

'Anything good in there?' Said Thomas indicating the newspaper Alfred had clutched in front of him.

'No.' Alfred admitted, flicking idly at the corners of the pages.

Thomas laughed, shooting a gaze down towards the other end of the table by the door, where Anna and Bates (the only other occupants of the room at this late hour) were performing their usual feat of sewing together into the night. Bates had finished with Robert half an hour previous, while Cora was clearly keeping O'Brien occupied (for which Thomas was intensely thankful), while Anna and Alfred hung about waiting to be called up to Mary and Matthew respectively, whom they suspected were still in lively conversation (at least on Matthew's part) with Edith.

Thomas and Jimmy on the other hand, lingered on in the servant's hall on the off chance that Carson would somehow be unable to handle carrying the last three remaining drinks glasses out of the drawing room unaided. Even amid his powerful pride in his employment, Thomas had to admit it was a pretty stupid requirement.

He sighed, utterly bored.

'My thoughts as well.' Said Alfred, with a quirk of his eyebrow, turning his eyes back to the paper in front of him in one final abortive attempt to find something of interest in the pages. With a groan that echoed Jimmy's earlier indications of discontent he threw the paper away down the table. Thomas made no move to retrieve it.

'You still with us Jimmy?' Said Thomas gently, leaning across the table to jiggle one of his arms.

Jimmy slowly extracted his face from his hands and repositioned his head to rest his chin on his palms.

'I'm still here.' He said grudgingly, refusing to open his eyes.

Thomas laughed, quickly ghosting the backs of his fingers over Jimmy's cheek, reasoning that none of the room's current occupants would object to such an innocent gesture.

'Maybe it's a good thing Mr Gregson's back in London for the time being, eh? I don't think you could dress a _doll _in this state!' He said teasingly.

'Bet I could.' Jimmy chuckled in spite of his fatigue. 'You go and fetch one of the old dolls from the attic and I'll show you!'

The thought of climbing all the staircases between the servant's hall and the attic suddenly had Thomas feeling as tired as Jimmy; not that he wasn't momentarily tempted to call him out on his bet.

'I wonder if Mr Gregson will come back to stay again before the wedding?' Alfred mused.

'Um…' Thomas sat back in his chair momentarily to allow him to stretch out his arms. '…I suppose he could. But they've made it next month not this month because of his work commitments in London, so…I don't know.' Thomas concluded with a shrug.

Bates piped up from the end of the table. 'His Lordship is under the impression that we are to expect Mr Gregson back in just under three weeks.'

'Ah.' Said Thomas, turning back to Alfred. 'There you go then!'

'Thank you Mr Bates.' Alfred called down the table. Bates gave a nod of acknowledgement before returning to the buttons he was re-sewing.

'They were talking nothing but weddings at dinner you know.' Said Jimmy, sitting back upright to stretch out in a similar manner to Thomas.

'That they were.' Alfred agreed.

Thomas sighed. 'Why is it always the dinners I miss that have the most interesting discussions?' He grumbled.

'It was mostly tripe.' Said Jimmy with a grimace. 'Places to print invitation cards, places to order flowers from…boring.'

'Speak for yourself!' Said Alfred in mock indignation. 'Those tips could be useful for me you know!'

Jimmy snorted. 'Like you could afford even a petal off the flowers they'll be ordering.' He grinned.

Alfred cracked a grin. 'What if I were to find me an heiress?'

'Come off it.' Thomas jumped in. 'We all know where your heart leads these days.'

Alfred smiled impossibly widely, blushing furiously. It took him a good few moments to regain full control of his facial features and settle back down.

'Oh, I'm sorry.' He said softly. 'I know it's not really fair for me to be going on about weddings and such in front of you two.'

'Doesn't matter.' Said Thomas.

Jimmy nodded. 'It's alright.'

'Yes but…' Alfred persisted. '…you _would_ if you could, wouldn't you?'

Thomas opened his mouth to gently caution Alfred that such a query, however well meant, was inappropriately personal (especially in such a venue as the servant's hall); but a brief glance at the slight widening of Jimmy's eyes practically forced Thomas to reply in the affirmative.

He nodded.

Jimmy smiled.

Unfortunately that didn't put an end to the matter for Alfred.

'What if you were to say the stuff to each other just by yourselves? You know, the vows and such?'

'I think we've covered that already.' Said Jimmy with a shrug, glancing warmly at Thomas.

Alfred continued undeterred. 'Maybe you could even say it in the church!' He suddenly exclaimed. 'We'll all be at the wedding for Lady Edith and Mr Gregson, why don't the two of you just sit together and copy what the priest says?'

Thomas and Jimmy exchanged a highly bemused and, frankly, disturbed look.

'Alfred…' Said Thomas slowly. 'I know you mean well, but let's drop the subject. Shall we?'

'Of course.' Said Alfred quickly. 'Sorry…I don't mean to…I mean, I'm trying to…'

'We know.' Said Jimmy, nudging Alfred playfully with his shoulder.

'Besides…' Said Thomas merrily, in a bid to lift Alfred's deflated mood. '…I doubt much attention would be paid to Lady Edith if I turned up in a wedding dress as well!'

Down the far end of the table, Anna and Bates shared a moment of amused eye contact.

Alfred burst out laughing.

'Mind you…' Thomas continued, glancing comically down at himself. 'White's never really been my color; too pale you see!'

'No, that's true!' Said Alfred, wiping away tears of laughter. 'I reckon you'd do better in a white dress than him…' He joked, turning to Jimmy. '…your skin's more tanned, it would be a better…'

Thomas's mind was sharp enough to register concern at the sight of Jimmy jumping out of his seat, but not nearly quick enough to translate that concern into physical action in time to stop Jimmy from taking firm hold of Alfred and smashing his face down into the table.

Dimly noting Anna's scream from the other end of the room, Thomas found himself quite paralysed by disbelief until Jimmy repeated the gesture a second time; an event heralded by the sound of cracking and the sight of blood as Alfred's nose gave way upon connecting with force against the table top.

'Fuck!' Thomas shouted, suddenly roused. He launched himself across the table to knock Jimmy away from Alfred; who fell sideways off his chair, moaning miserably in disorientation and pain.

Jimmy howled, struggling to get past Thomas to fall upon Alfred again.

'What the…?' Thomas began.

He finally succeeded in immobilising Jimmy face down on the table, yanking one of his arms up viciously behind him to quell his thrashing. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' Thomas shouted directly into Jimmy's ear, pushing his arm further up his back, drawing wails of anguish, until Jimmy began to finally settle down.

When he heard Jimmy's animalistic howls give way to strangled sobs Thomas let him up and shoved him towards the door. 'Get out.' He shouted, pointing furiously at the doorway.

But Jimmy wasn't looking at him.

He was staring down at the bloody mess of Alfred on the floor in horror. 'Oh my God…' He breathed. 'I didn't mean to…'

'OUT!' Thomas screamed at him.

He watched darkly as Jimmy stumbled out of the room.

Despite Mr Bates being between her and the door, a very shaken Anna still felt the need to flinch as Jimmy passed. Thomas barely noticed, his attention suddenly wholly occupied by Alfred.

'Alfred I am so sorry!' He exclaimed as he dropped down to the floor to drag Alfred up into a sitting position. 'I don't know what…' He shook his head and stopped speaking, because he really _didn't_ 'know' what had happened.

'Sit up like this…' Thomas ordered, fishing around in his pocket for a handkerchief to begin mopping Alfred up. 'Christ…' He whispered, inspecting the damage. '…that's going to need re-setting…Alfred I'm so sorry!'

'What is going on in here!?' Carson's voice suddenly barked from the doorway.

Thomas's mind hadn't had time to fully process the situation, but he was suddenly overcome by a crashing sense of doom.

'What's…?' Carson began, stopping abruptly when Thomas moved aside from his position on the floor to allow Carson to see the state of Alfred.

'_What_ happened?' Carson demanded of Thomas, who at that particular moment could do no better than stare miserably down at the bloody handkerchief in his hand.

'I fell.' Alfred said unevenly.

Both Carson and Thomas turned to stare at him in astonishment.

'Tripped over my own feet…' Alfred continued, his voice several notes off it's usual pitch and his breathing very unsteady, but he persevered. '…smacked my head on the table…Mr Barrow's been cleaning me up…'

Carson regarded Alfred for a moment longer, clearly drawing distress of his own from Alfred's evident suffering, but to Thomas's intense relief his expression seemed to be absent of suspicion.

'Are you able to deal with this injury yourself, Mr Barrow?' Said Carson gruffly.

'Yes, Mr Carson.' Said Thomas quickly.

'Is there anything you need from me?' Said Carson.

'No. Thank you, Mr Carson.' Said Thomas quietly. 'And we'll sort out looking after Mr Crawley tonight between us.' He continued, indicating between himself and Bates over at the head of the table.

Thomas was hardly able to believe it when Carson simply nodded in agreement and turned, leaving the room.

'Alfred…' Thomas said, turning back to him in wonder as soon as Carson was out of sight. '…you are just…'

'You can't be seriously thinking of covering this up?' Anna's shaky but insistent tones rang out across the room. Thomas looked up to find her staring damningly down at the both of them.

'I'll deal with it.' Thomas said quickly. 'I swear.'

'How _precisely_ do you propose to deal with this?' Anna's voice rose into high pitched hysteria as she stared at the damage to Alfred's face.

'I'll DEAL with it!' Thomas repeated, pleading desperately with his eyes.

'Perhaps we might take a walk.' Said Bates, glancing towards Thomas with an unreadable expression, placing his hand at Anna's waist. 'Mr Barrow…I trust you will come and fetch us when the bell rings for Lady Mary?'

'I will, yes' Thomas replied instantly.

Bates nodded a little, shepherding a reluctant Anna over to the door as Thomas turned his attention back to Alfred.

'Alfred I am so very _very_ sorry.' He said, raising a finger and thumb to gently feel along the bridge of Alfred's nose to ascertain at precisely which point it had given way.

'My fault…' Said Alfred throatily, wincing as Thomas's thumb found it's mark. '…shouldn't talk about what I don't understand…'

'Alfred, I _am_ very grateful to you for covering for Jimmy. And I _will _deal with him.' Thomas said darkly. 'But don't you DARE think that you did anything to deserve this.'


	51. Our Interest - Chapter 51

**Our Interest – Chapter 51**

'Thomas?' Said Matthew in confusion as the door opened to reveal the dark haired Under Butler instead of the anticipated red-headed Footman. 'Ah…I mean, Mr Barrow.' Matthew quickly corrected himself with a nod of greeting towards Thomas. His confusion was rapidly replaced by concern at the look of distress playing across Thomas's face and the uncharacteristic tentativeness with which Thomas entered the room.

'Mr Crawley…I…um…' Thomas began shakily, grateful for the excuse to momentarily turn around to close the door, as he vied for control over his facial muscles against a powerful sense of fear and lingering shock at the earlier events of the evening. His concern and gratitude to Alfred had held him well enough while tending to the painful (for both he and Alfred) task of correcting his broken nose, but the long walk from Alfred's room, especially the passing of Jimmy's closed bedroom door, had allowed his tenuous control over himself to lapse. 'There's been an accident, Mr Crawley.' Said Thomas, turning back around, unable to keep the slight tremor of his lips at bay.

'An accident?' Matthew stepped towards him, stopping at the sight of Thomas involuntarily flinching back against the wood of the door. 'Good God, what's happened?'

'I'm to look after you tonight…' Said Thomas, keeping his voice relatively level by pure virtue of the number of times he had gone over the words in his head on the way to Matthew's dressing room. '…because Alfred's had an accident. He…fell…' Thomas swallowed. '…and broke his nose.'

'Oh…' Matthews hand immediately raised to his lips as he gasped, although Thomas wasn't so far gone as to miss the relief in his eyes at the news not having been worse. It gave Thomas a lick of hope.

Thomas cleared his throat and mustered a thin smile. 'May I…?' He said, indicating Matthew's formal wear.

'Yes, yes, of course.' Said Matthew, walking back to stand in front of the wardrobe. 'How is he?' He said, shrugging out of his jacket and holding it out to Thomas.

'Well…' Said Thomas slowly, opening up the wardrobe to hang the jacket. '…he's in a bit of pain tonight, and…' Thomas closed his eyes, shielded by the wardrobe door, willing his voice to remain steady before continuing. '…and he's a bit disoriented, and it looks…quite bad at the moment.' Thomas repositioned himself behind Matthew to loosen the gather at the back of his waistcoat. 'But he will be fine.' Thomas said firmly.

'I'm glad to hear it.' Said Matthew with a sympathetic grimace. 'I'm surprised to find you willing to attend me tonight.' He said, giving a small laugh. 'Valet's of mine seem to be having rotten luck of late.'

Thomas forced a smile in answer to Matthew's words, but his eagerness to continue with his planned speech caused it to linger for far too short a time to be convincing.

'Will you still have him, Mr Crawley?' He said, maneuvering to stand in front of him, his usually expert fingers fumbling at the buttons at the front of Matthew's waist coat. 'As your Valet, I mean? He might not look…' Thomas forced himself to meet Matthew's eyes as the latter pulled his tie away from his collar. '…very good, for a while, but he's so been enjoying serving you and going on your visits with you and…' Thomas stopped, his voice having become high and unsteady, almost pleading. He screwed his eyes shut again, this time not bothering to conceal his agitation from Matthew, realising that his voice had more than convincingly betrayed him. 'You won't mind, will you?' He continued miserably. 'About his face…?'

'Oh Thomas!' Matthew exclaimed gently, adopting the easy informality that Thomas generally abhorred, but in this case was desperately thankful for. 'Of course I won't mind. If my clients can stand my own face, there should be little left to shock them.' He joked, briefly patting Thomas's arm.

Thomas gave a genuine laugh of intense relief at Matthew's good humor.

'I must say…' Said Matthew as Thomas turned to replace his waistcoat on it's hanger. '…your concern for Alfred's career advancement does you credit.'

'Thank you, Mr Crawley.' Said Thomas quietly, unable to fully accept Matthew's words in his heart at his own sense of culpability in the events surrounding the 'accident'.

'I had wondered…' Matthew continued as Thomas began to attend to his shirt buttons. '…if perhaps there might be some ill-feeling about Alfred's new position, given the circumstances of his promotion to the role of First Footman over James…' He said.

Thomas visibly tensed, becoming stuck on a particularly tenacious button as his hands suddenly became uncooperative.

'Thomas…' Said Matthew gently, inclining his head to catch Thomas's eye despite Thomas's pointed efforts to avoid such intimacy. '…has something else happened? Are you…are things well between you and James?'

'As well as can be.' Said Thomas, putting everything he had into re-setting his expression into one of nonchalance. 'It is sometimes hard…because of the way things are for people like us. But things are well…I'm just shaken up after the accident, that's all.' He quickly added. 'And it's not always pleasant to revisit my training as a medic.'

'Of course!' Said Matthew, rolling his head back in exasperation at his own slowness. 'I forget sometimes that while the rest of us were off playing heroes, you were truly in the ugly face of things on the Front during the war.'

'I don't think anyone would deny you had your own share of suffering on that front.' Thomas responded mournfully. 'We were, both of us, just doing our duty.'

Matthew nodded.

A combination of relief at having confirmed the safety of Alfred's position as Matthew's Valet, and an uncomfortable gnawing at having had to blatantly lie to Matthew, of all people, after everything he had done on his behalf, inflamed Thomas's dark mood as he made his way back to the attic; his thoughts now free to focus entirely on his powerful anger.

'Oh good.' He said caustically upon pushing Jimmy's bedroom door open, without knocking, to find a livery-clad Jimmy sitting on the edge of his bed. 'You're still awake.'

Thomas swung the door shut behind him, cursing the late hour and paper-thin walls for preventing him from slamming it.

Jimmy didn't look up. His arms by his sides, he gripped the bed sheets tightly, his shoulders and head inclined forwards as he looked vacantly at the floor.

Thomas stared down at Jimmy's hunched form in disgust.

'Explain.' Thomas demanded, his voice quiet but still potent enough with anger to cause Jimmy to curl further into himself.

'Bloody LOOK at me.' Said Thomas, spitting out each of the words as though they too personally offended him.

Jimmy raised his head, staring darkly at the wall directly in front of him before turning his face to Thomas.

'I didn't mean to…' He began.

Thomas shook his head, cutting Jimmy off with the venom in his expression.

'Explain.' Thomas repeated, low and dangerously.

'I was upset.' Said Jimmy, beginning to raise his shoulders in a dismissive shrug and turn his head away, but halting as Thomas's immediate prompt of 'And?' made him jump in it's abruptness.

'I was angry.' Said Jimmy, a little of his bravado draining from his expression as he raised his eyes back up to Thomas's.

The expression of lost openness in Jimmy's eyes failed utterly to deter Thomas's accusing glare.

'Oh…yes…' Said Thomas scathingly, stepping towards him to ensure his quiet words could be heard to full effect. 'I _saw_ that you were angry. And I _saw_ you…' Thomas stabbed a finger in Jimmy's direction. '…take that anger out on the _one_ bloody friend that you have here.'

'Just the one friend is it?' Said Jimmy sarcastically, the vulnerability of a moment ago vanishing as though it had never been as he quirked his head at Thomas.

Thomas ran his upper lip through his teeth, a slightly manic grin stretching across his face as he shook his head in exasperation.

'Want me to be the only friend you have here, do you?' He said.

'It might as well be that way already.' Jimmy retorted, the white of his knuckles stretching further as he tightened his grip on the sheets.

'You're a _fool_.' Hissed Thomas.

Jimmy flinched.

Thomas gave a weary sigh. 'Look…just _explain _to me what happened?'

Jimmy turned his head back to the floor.

'For God's sake Jimmy.' Said Thomas. 'You happily referred to yourself as bloody _'Queen'_ in that letter I wrote, how is what Alfred said any worse? You know he doesn't mean any harm.'

'I _know_ that.' Said Jimmy dully. 'I do.'

'You're the one who came up with the whole 'like a married couple' thing in the first place!' Thomas exclaimed. 'And he never said nothing about one of us having to be the woman, it was _me_ that joked about the sodding gown.'

'I KNOW that!' Jimmy said desperately, his voice rising a little too loudly for comfort given their surroundings.

Thomas raised a finger to his lips in warning.

Jimmy gave a loud humph of disdain before consenting to settle down.

'Do you _know_ what will happen to you if Mr Carson finds out about this?' Said Thomas.

'I take it Alfred hasn't gone and told him then.' Said Jimmy with a toss of his head.

'No.' Thomas responded. 'He hasn't. Though even I'm having a hard time understanding why he's willing to protect you after what you did to him.' Thomas paused to shake his head again. 'But Anna might tell him. Did you see her?' Thomas said, the anger rising again in his voice and expression. 'She was _terrified_.'

'I'm sure you'll think of something.' Said Jimmy mockingly.

'I can't believe you think you can just dismiss this!' Thomas retorted, barely remembering to keep the volume of his voice in check.

'So what then?' Said Jimmy, springing up off the bed to stand in front of Thomas, his face full of amused challenge. 'What do you propose to do about it, eh? Going to get my trousers down and give me a good smacking over the desk are you? Going to cancel my next half-day's leave? Oh…wait…' Jimmy drawled with a smirk. '…perhaps you mean to give me a smacking _on_ my next half-day, it is only two days away after all?'

Thomas gave a hysterical laugh, stepping backwards, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling, before turning to pace the floor, his body wracked with cynical amusement.

Jimmy followed Thomas's movements with his eyes, becoming increasingly agitated and uncertain as Thomas's hysteria continued.

'What's so bloody funny?' Jimmy demanded.

'Oh…' Thomas gasped, rubbing a hand across his face as he allowed his laughter to subside. 'Just marveling at the patented 'Jimmy Kent' methodology for dealing with emotional distress, that's all. Tell me…' He said, stepping close to him, forcing Jimmy to look up. '…do you ever wonder how different your life might be if you didn't try and solve _every_ problem by dropping your trousers?'

Thomas regretted the words the second they were out of his mouth.

He caught Jimmy as he crumpled forwards, unsurprised to find him immediately wrestling to get out of his grip, but persisted in holding him to his chest until his violent jerks gave way to shivering sobbing.

'Christ, I'm sorry.' Thomas said into Jimmy's hair. 'I am so sorry. Jimmy I…Jimmy we _really _need to talk about this.'

Jimmy didn't respond, his hands and head remaining pressed against Thomas's chest as his sobs softened into silence.

'Jimmy…' Thomas said gently, pressing a kiss into his hair. '…can we please talk about this when we go away?'

Jimmy sighed against him before pushing at his chest to move himself back.

Thomas released his hold and let his arms drop to his side.

Jimmy nodded weakly.

'Good.' Said Thomas. 'That's good, Jimmy.'

Jimmy responded with the barest hint of a thoroughly dejected smile before nodding his head again.

'What do I need to do about Alfred?' He said softly.

'Apologise.' Said Thomas simply. 'Profusely, apologise. And do everything you can to help him.'

'Right.' Said Jimmy quietly. 'I'll do that.'

'I don't think Anna will say anything, not unless Alfred tells her to.' Thomas continued. 'And something about the way Bates took her away makes me think he won't either…I'll see if I can have a word. But you…' He said looking sadly at Jimmy. '…you make damn sure you don't give any more reasons for people to want you gone.'

'I'll try.' Jimmy whispered.

'You'd best do more than try, Jimmy.' Said Thomas, a little of the earlier bite returning to his voice.

'Alright.' Said Jimmy miserably, sinking back down onto his bed.

'I'll see you in the morning.' Said Thomas with a deep sigh as he made his way over to the door.


	52. Our Interest - Chapter 52

**Our Interest – Chapter 52**

'So…' Said Anna, flicking her eyes sideways in Bates's direction as they made their way through the dark of the grounds towards their cottage. '…are you going to explain what that was about?'

'I couldn't claim to know.' Said Bates, briefly ceasing the rhythmic tapping of his cane along the path to press reassuringly on the hand that Anna clasped round his other arm as they walked in step.

Anna gave a disgruntled murmur, but smiled at the contact, raising her spare hand to reassuringly rub the back of Bates's before he dropped the cane back to his side.

'You know very well I'm asking about you, not James.' Said Anna, turning her eyes back to the (barely) moonlit path as the distant late night lights of the cottages came into view. 'I don't understand why you let Thomas, and Alfred, for that matter, lie to Mr Carson about what James did.'

For a while the shuffling of their feet and the scuffle of displaced pebbles over the path was the only sound in the darkness.

'Something about it just didn't sit right with me.' Said Bates.

'Well, I'll agree with you there.' Said Anna dryly.

Bates shot her an amused smile, unseen in the dark.

'I mean…' He said firmly but affectionately. '…that I genuinely believe James wasn't in full control of himself.'

'Again, I'll have to agree…' Said Anna with a hint of bitter humor.

Bates gave an amused snort. 'I _mean_…' He repeated. '…that I don't think it fair to hold James entirely responsible for his actions. And I don't think informing Mr Carson of them would help matters.'

'Mr Bates…' Said Anna in jesting reproach. '…you are the most incorrigible of creatures! You kept having a go at me for trying to make James feel more welcome and included because you don't approve of him, and then he goes and breaks a man's nose and suddenly you're on _his_ side?'

'But didn't you see his reaction?' Said Bates. 'It was like someone had lit the taper of a stick of dynamite; something Alfred said reminded him of something unpleasant…and he lashed out.' He concluded simply.

'I still don't understand…' Anna began, shaking her head.

'It's something you sometimes see among the military…and the convicted…' Said Bates quietly. 'Certain, perfectly innocent, words and phrases can trigger involuntary reactions when someone is reminded of past trauma.'

'Every young man of a certain age is ex-military.' Said Anna. 'Doesn't mean they are entitled to bring their thuggery into civilised society; against people who've done nothing to deserve it.'

'I don't…' Bates trailed off for a moment, pursing his lips in frustration. 'I don't presume to guess the reasons behind it, and it needn't be related to the war, I just think that in my opinion, James's reaction indicated that he wasn't in control of himself. And I think a little compassion might be in order…' He glanced sideways at Anna. '…rather than vilification.'

Anna stopped walking, tugging briskly on Bates's arm to halt him, drawing him round to stand in front of her.

'I do hear you.' She said. 'I really do. But what if it'd been _me _that said the wrong thing to him?'

Bates grimaced and gave a small nod, acknowledging a grudging defeat. 'Then…' He said slowly. '…I would thrash everything that makes him handsome into a bloody, bruised, mess.'

The Bates's were safely home and bedded down before Jimmy even considered moving from his position, hunched over on the side of the bed, where he had been since Thomas had left him.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms twitching in suppressed agitation, as he once again relived the sound of Alfred's bones cracking against the table.

His shoulders hunched involuntarily up to his ears.

Shaking his head, brow furrowed miserably, he gave a light slap to his thighs before rising up off the bed.

Chewing his lips between his teeth, Jimmy began to saunter slowly, disjointedly, in loops about the floor of the room.

Alternately raising his hands up to cup the back of his neck, then dropping them down to shake at his sides, he paced.

His footfalls became increasingly heavy in the quiet of the early morning, increasingly echoing around the room.

Fighting the urge to stamp (or scream) he let out a grunt of frustration, as loud as he dared, and flopped himself down over the bureau with his head in his hands.

He gave a low and nasal groan, tugging his fingers through his hair, resting his forehead against the wood as he let the weight of his upper body sink down onto the bureau.

After a long wait, he raised his head, propping himself up on his elbows.

His reflection stared accusatorily at him from all four mirrors, but he was quite unable to tear his gaze away from the one dead opposite his face.

He sniffed away the mucus that rose from his throat and fought to keep the unsteadiness from his face as he stared back at himself.

For a short moment, he won the battle to force the man in the mirror to look back at him in confidence and reassurance.

His expression rapidly degenerated into the ugly visage required to shed forceful tears.

At the sight of the misery before him, Jimmy abandoned the battle he had been waging to keep his breathing under control; letting his breaths sharpen and deepen as his chest heaved against the sharp edge of the bureau.

He let out a cry, caught off guard by the sudden _need_ to make noise to let out some of the sickening upset that stuck in his throat.

He leant his head back down against the wood, finding a small iota of calm in it's coolness against his cheek.

Exhaling slowly, the fingers of one hand playing over the surface of the wood in front of his eye line, he lowered the other to his waist.

His breathing began to punch more insistently in and out of his throat again as he grappled with unclipping his braces and unfastening his trousers.

The tightness of his trousers released, Jimmy moved his hand round to the small of his back, resting it there a moment before bunching his shirt aside, allowing him to slide an unimpeded hand down the back of his underpants.

He paused for a moment, his face obtaining a relative blankness in comparison to it's earlier anguish, though the tears continued to fall, before retracing his movements.

As his other hand cupped across his face, to press finger and thumb tightly against the tear ducts at the side of his nose, Jimmy pushed his underwear and trousers down to his thighs; putting himself on display to the empty room.

For a moment he ran his palm slowly up and down his right buttock, sobbing silently against the bureau.

At length he shifted, with a determined and defiant sniff, to raise his upper body away from the bureau top, stretching out his spare arm to support himself with his palm flat to the wood, staring unflinchingly at the reflection looking back at him as he dipped the other hand down to push his middle finger inside of himself.

He watched his face intently, from the pleading wet eyes to the involuntary quivers of his jaw as he roughly worked himself open enough to accept a second finger dry.

As he strained the muscles of his arm and shoulder to repeatedly probe into himself, making as much use as he could of the limited range of movement the situation afforded to his hips, Jimmy finally succeeded in demanding an air of confidence and power from the observer through the glass.

It seemed like only minutes later when he realised that the glow of the sun, rather than the light of the lamps, had become the predominant source of light in the room.

Yet still, there he was. Unsatisfied.

He collapsed briefly down onto the bureau before righting himself, ready to begin preparations for the day ahead.

A short while later Jimmy knocked lightly on Alfred's door before pushing it open, finding the other man, as expected, still curled up in bed; bent almost double to accommodate his long limbs within the tiny bedstead.

Alfred frowned as he stirred awake, then winced as the frown disturbed the damage to his nose, turning to look dully at Jimmy through black eyes.

'I'm…sorry to wake you.' Jimmy began, feeling the need to build up to the purpose for his visit. 'But I have to go down to breakfast in a moment, and I thought that you might not be going down today, and I really wanted to speak with you so…' Jimmy trailed off, grimacing at the babbling stream of words.

He took a deep breath. 'Alfred I am so sorry.'

Alfred gave a thin smile, though Jimmy couldn't quite place whether the smile failed to reach his eyes due to ill feeling or a desire to avoid further disturbance to his broken nose.

'My fault.' Said Alfred, his voice hoarse as he worked through the after effects of sleep. 'I shouldn't have been talking about things I know nothing about.'

'Alfred it wasn't your fault!' Jimmy exclaimed, entwining the fingers of his hands together as he took a few steps further towards the bed. 'You did nothing wrong and I…' Jimmy looked at the floor and shook his head. 'I am just so damn sorry…and I _can_ explain.' He said, looking earnestly at Alfred, trying to avoid letting his disgust at the state of Alfred's face show in his expression.

'Thank you for the apology.' Said Alfred, with another thin smile. 'But I think I'd like to get some sleep now, eh?'

Jimmy took another step towards him. 'Please let me explain.' He said, his voice hushed and tentative.

'Look…' Alfred sighed, shaking his head gently, screwing up his eyes momentarily at the dizziness the move invoked. '…I'd rather just keep out of it. And I reckon you owe me that.'

Jimmy blinked, pressing his lips tightly together as he hung his head. 'Of course…' He said softly. 'I'll leave you in peace.' He turned on his heel to head back to the door.

As he reached it he paused briefly to turn back to Alfred with a grin. 'You know, if you ask me, it's something of an improvement to your face…' He said with a wink.

The dark atmosphere dissipated in a flash as Alfred gave a sharp laugh, closely followed by another pained wince. 'Be off with you, you cheeky sod!' He said, resisting the urge to playfully toss the pillow after him (but not fancying the prospect of then having to traipse across the room to recover it).

Within two minutes of arriving downstairs to breakfast, Jimmy was of the opinion that the entire day could go to hell.

Thomas refused to look at him, apart from a fleeting glance to see if Mr Carson's gruff assessment of his hair (Jimmy had only been able to steal a few moments between washing and re-dressing before visiting Alfred to briefly run a comb through it) was correct, Anna glared darkly at him, Bates was giving him a similarly infuriatingly knowing look to the one he had given him over the letters from the Police department; Jimmy keenly felt the lack of an Alfred to roll his eyes at.


	53. Our Interest - Chapter 53

**Our Interest – Chapter 53**

**WARNING for M/M slash relations this chapter. **

_'Good morning my Lord.' Said Jimmy softly as he sidestepped through the partially open door with a breakfast tray balanced precariously over one palm._

_'Oh bollocks, no.' The bed sheets rustled briskly in the dark as Anstruther gathered them up into a protective arm-lock, throwing his head back down vigorously to bury himself in the heaped downy pillows. 'Say it isn't so…' He moaned, his voice muffled by feathers and fabric, as Jimmy set the breakfast tray down on the table by the door._

_Jimmy walked over to the drapes, taking ahold of the exorbitantly tasseled pull. 'You can have a few more hours if you want, your train doesn't go till lunchtime and the ferry is in the late evening…'_

_Anstruther grunted and crushed his face against the pillow a final time before dragging himself up into a semi-seated position. 'No…it's fine.' He said defeatedly, beginning to kick the bed covers down towards the foot of the bed, stretching out the cramped muscles of his torso._

_Jimmy yanked on the pull to draw the drapes open, flooding the room with the bright morning. _

_He turned, took in Anstruther's appearance, acres of pale naked skin contrasting shockingly with the rich auburn of his hair, and gave a small laugh. 'Couldn't you find your pyjamas?' He said jovially._

_'Mmmm…' Anstruther murmured. '…well I was left without a Valet last night…' He said, with a slightly reproachful look towards Jimmy._

_'Oh…right…' Jimmy glanced briefly down at the floor before steeling himself to look back up. 'I'm very sorry about that.' He said quietly._

_'It is alright Jimmy.' Said Anstruther, allowing himself to sink a little deeper into the nest of pillows at his back. 'I wouldn't have given you the night off if I wasn't happy to do so.'_

_'Thank you my Lord.' Jimmy responded quickly._

_'You know, I've never seen you quite like that before. What actually happened there?' Said Anstruther, rubbing at his eyes with both hands to dispel the sleep that had accumulated within. _

_'I don't know.' Said Jimmy softly._

_'I doubt that very much, Jimmy…But it's not my place to pry.' Anstruther said dismissively, bringing his hands up to cup at the back of his neck. 'The question is, are you content to continue in your work here?'_

_'Yes my Lord. Of course!' Said Jimmy immediately with a smile, beginning to move back over towards the table by the door where he had left the tray. 'Thank you for understanding.' He added._

_'That's quite alright.' Said Anstruther, smiling back at him as Jimmy turned around upon reaching the doorway. 'Just…try to avoid adding too many items to the list of things you aren't prepared to do.'_

_'I'll bear that in mind my Lord.' Said Jimmy with a small bow, raising a hand up to his collar while simultaneously meeting Anstruther's gaze and raising a questioning eyebrow._

_Anstruther's eyes flicked down to the tie that Jimmy was beginning to loosen before retracing their steps back up to his face. 'Most definitely yes.' He said. _

_Jimmy bowed again briefly, throwing a hand out behind himself to shut the door fully while working his tie open one handed. _

_That done, he quickly divested himself of his jacket, draping it, and the tie, over the back of the nearby chair. Unceremoniously, with the speed that came from repeated performance, he continued to stand sideways on to the bed as he picked open the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt. Before long the chair played host to his entire outfit; shoes and socks beneath, undergarments on the cushion, trousers over one arm, shirt on the other, while the waistcoat, jacket and tie hung neatly next to one another over the back._

_'So…' Said Jimmy, retrieving the tray by the door and walking it over to set it down on the bedside table. '…how are you wanting your coffee this morning?'_

_'Ugh!' Anstruther grimaced. 'Strong. Extremely. Strong.'_

_Jimmy chuckled. 'Looks like I missed a particularly good one last night.' He said as he filled the waiting cup with coffee and an inappropriately large amount of sugar, bypassing the milk jug entirely._

_'That you did.' Said Anstruther with a nod, staring a little bleary eyed into the distance as he tested his recollection of the particulars through a powerful headache. 'The themed nights always seem to go down a treat…No, no.' He said quickly as Jimmy held out the cup of coffee to him. 'Just leave it on the night stand there…' He patted the mattress on the other side of him. '…and you come up here.'_

_With a nod, Jimmy set the cup back onto the tray and crawled up onto the bed. He made his way around Anstruther's feet at the foot of the bed before maneuvering himself up to the middle to settle down next to Anstruther's side. His head and shoulders briefly disappeared within the cavernous gap left between two particularly large and well stuffed pillows before he managed to prop himself up in the middle of one of them. _

_'I know, I know…' Anstruther laughed at Jimmy's disgruntled expression. '…I have too many pillows! But I'm too far gone to change my habits now.' The tip of his tongue briefly made an appearance out of the corner of his mouth as he trailed a hand down Jimmy's collar bone and along his arm. 'I do wish I could take you to France with me, you know. I can't tell you how much I enjoy having your services as my Valet when I visit here.' He said, his speech gentler as his fingers returned to Jimmy's shoulder before running down his chest, pausing briefly at the small raised nub of his nipple before continuing down to his belly. 'Everyone asked after you last night. You were very much missed.'_

_'I couldn't go to France.' Said Jimmy, paying no mind to the hand trailing over his skin. 'I don't have to remind you why my role as a Footman is important here.'_

_'Yes.' Anstruther agreed, grimacing a little. He reached his hand behind Jimmy's head to pull him towards him. Jimmy let himself be led, his mouth coming to rest against Anstruther's chest. Shifting his legs to bring himself onto all fours for greater ease of movement, Jimmy kissed languidly at the center of his chest before enveloping one nipple with his lips while his fingers slid soothingly across the sparse hair of Anstruther's chest to find the other. 'It really is remarkable what you have been able to do for my mother, you know.' Said Anstruther, closing his eyes contentedly as he stroked the silky curls at the side of Jimmy's head. 'I still don't know how you do it, but I'm grateful that you can.'_

_'Well…' Jimmy raised his head slightly, giving a quick kiss to the nipple before releasing it briefly from his lips. '…when people don't want to eat it's best not to make too big a fuss about it. That usually just makes things worse…' Jimmy paused to extend his tongue to roll slowly over the nipple beneath. 'I just tempt her gently with nice things, try to take her mind off it, and then she just…eats.' He concluded with a small shrug. 'Just don't take her to France with you, eh? I don't think even I could get her to touch that food.' Jimmy teased before returning his lips to Anstruther's chest. _

_'She quite dotes on you now…' Anstruther smiled. 'I think she sees in you the lovely sweet golden son that I've failed utterly to be.' He gave a laugh, running his fingers down behind Jimmy's ear to rub the smooth skin behind it. 'I must admit…' Anstruther paused to give a low moan as Jimmy brought his teeth lightly together to tease the sensitive nub of his nipple. '…At the time I was sure you were just exaggerating your ability…trying to convince me to give you a job; but you're so so good with my Mother, I'm very thankful I took you on.'_

_'It's like I said…' Jimmy raised his head again. '…I had an Aunt who had a similar problem as I was growing up. I know how to handle it. And I would hope…' Jimmy said, briefly locking his gaze onto Anstruthers. '…that you wouldn't say I've exaggerated my other talents either.'_

_Anstruther gave an enthusiastic grin, giving a small shake of his head._

_His face fell a little as he extended a hand to brush against Jimmy's cheek and neck. 'Much as it pains me to say so, Jimmy…you would be well within your rights reduce your…duties…to just those that befit a Footman cum Valet. I have hinted at it before, as you know, but I feel I should reiterate that you have done more than enough to prove your worth to mine and my Mother's household without the need for any other 'talents'.'_

_He regarded Jimmy's face carefully. _

_A tiny, barely perceptible shake of the head was his answer before Jimmy leant forwards, ready to turn the attention of his mouth onto the other nipple. _

_With a small snort of affectionate laughter, Anstruther took hold of the back of Jimmy's neck, halting his progress, before redirecting him down to his waist._

_He gently brought Jimmy's face to the stubborn erection below that rose potently; as much the result of the early morning as of Jimmy's ministrations to his chest. _

_Jimmy opened his mouth and let the appendage slide in past his lips and teeth, shunting himself a little further down the bed on his knees and elbows to allow him to angle his head to fully accommodate it. _

_'Oh…yes…' Anstruther leaned his head back against the pillows, his hand still at the back of Jimmy's neck as the latter began to enthusiastically run his mouth up and down the offered flesh. 'Whoa…Jimmy.' Anstruther laughed. 'You said so yourself, there's a few hours spare.' Jimmy murmured acknowledgement, mouth too full to attempt speech, as he obliged with slower motions. 'There we go…' Said Anstruther with a happy sigh. 'Slowly up, and slowly down…oh…' He let out an involuntary gasp. '…and do give some attention to the tip, that roll of your tongue…ah, yes…that one…do that.' Anstruther stroked the back of Jimmy's neck. '…don't be rushing now…keep it slow…I intend to have a lazy morning…I think I deserve a lazy morning what with having to get all the way back to Calais today.' _

_Jimmy didn't answer, he couldn't really, but he showed his acquiescence with his careful adherence to Anstruther's instructions._

_'Good…' Purred Anstruther, removing the hand from the back of Jimmy's neck._

_He reached over to the night stand to fetch the morning paper off of the breakfast tray, holding it up against his slightly bent knees with his left hand (arm suspended slightly above the rise and fall of Jimmy's shoulder blades) as he reached for the coffee cup with his right. '…now keep doing that until I tell you to stop.'_

The sight of the ceiling in his room brought Jimmy slowly back to the present as the loathsome call of 'Six o'clock…' came through from the corridor outside.

Fatigue tinged with a hint of nausea had him lingering in bed for far longer than the tight timescale of the morning allowed.

When the stomach flip that accompanies the realisation of an inordinately long amount of time having passed between one clock check and the next, he finally launched himself out of bed.

Taking no time to wash, he scrambled to get into the clothes that lay strewn messily about the floor where he'd left them the previous evening, having no motivation following such a hellish day to bother with such niceties as hanging his uniform. He took the steps at a run, simultaneously attempting to rake a slick of pomade through his hair as he went.

By some miracle he managed to make it down the stairs without tripping.

He paused for a moment to attempt to wipe some of the gunk off of his hands with his handkerchief before entering the servant's hall, managing to make it in there and slink into his seat a moment before Ivy appeared with the toast; which generally marked the acceptable 'beginning' point of the breakfast.

Jimmy gave a sigh of relief at having made it in the nick of time, and at noting Alfred was present at the table (looking absolutely horrendous, and either ignoring or not noticing his presence, but present).

Jimmy's sigh of relief was short lived however.

'James this is the second time this week that you have appeared at this table inadequately presented.' Carson boomed from his position at the head of the table. The occupants of the kitchen down the corridor would have been hard pushed to avoid hearing, so Jimmy nursed no hope whatsoever that the embarrassing comment would have passed unnoticed by anyone in the servant's hall. It would have helped if Jimmy had bothered to check himself in the mirror before leaving his room (not that that would have helped as far as his hair was concerned) so that he could have at least taken a guess at what Mr Carson was referring to. As it was, he had to remain ignorant, seated staring at the table in front of him with a desperately red face. 'You will return to your room now and…' Carson began, before noticing a familiar interloper in the doorway.

'For James Kent?' Carson demanded gruffly of the courier, the second, more jumpy, of the two men that had previously visited. The young man nodded briskly, his nerves briefly replaced by something darker as he shot a glance down the table to glare at Jimmy (presumably in payback for his earlier lie).

Jimmy closed his eyes in frustration, already at the point of daring the day to get worse, rather than pleading for it to get better.

His eyes flew open again as Thomas spoke up.

'I'm going for a smoke.' Thomas announced loudly as the courier made a hasty exit under the powerful gaze of Mr Carson. 'Come and join me James.' He said pointedly, retrieving his glass of water from the table to take with him as he rose to his feet. 'I'll take that Mr Carson.' Thomas held out his hand for the new letter. He released a finger from his grip on the glass to take hold of the letter as Carson passed it to him.

Jimmy screwed his eyes shut again before forcefully grating his chair back over the floor to stand up and join him, finding himself uninterested in rescuing anything by way of food and drink off the table to take with him.

'I trust that you will ensure James is properly presentable before he returns.' Said Carson to Thomas. Thomas gave a quick nod to Carson, leaving Jimmy feeling somewhat useless and invisible; rapidly wishing he _was_ invisible upon Carson turning on him.

'James, another matter while we are on the subject; the periodicals in the library were left out last night. I know I expressly instructed you to ensure they were gathered in preparation for his Lordship this morning…'

Jimmy directed his eyes heavenwards in exasperation at himself, having fully intended to sort them as asked before turning in the previous night.

'Do not roll your eyes at Mr Carson when he has _every_ right to correct your carelessness!' Exclaimed Mrs Hughes from beside him.

'I wasn't…!' Jimmy began to retort, but Thomas quickly jumped in.

'We'll have a word about that too, won't we?' He said, giving a warning look to Jimmy (the first eye contact they had shared since the anger of two days previous). 'Come on…let's go.'

He herded Jimmy quickly out the door, waiting until they were in the yard before turning to him and giving a sharp tap to the base of Jimmy's throat with his index finger.

'What…?' Jimmy immediately raised his hand to rub away the sting, finding his fingers connecting with the buttons of his shirt rather than the tie that should have been there. 'Oh bollocks!' He said, hanging his head.

'Indeed.' Said Thomas humorlessly, handing the courier's letter over to Jimmy before walking to sit down on the bench, setting his glass down on the table top before drawing out his cigarette packet. 'If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were doing your best to make it so that Carson won't let you take your half day this afternoon?' He said dryly.

'Thomas, I'm just…' Jimmy began quietly, looking down at the letter in his hands.

Thomas's face softened. 'I know you are, Jimmy.' He said, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. 'I'm looking forward to getting to have a proper talk this afternoon, I really am…' He said with a small smile. '…are you still…amenable…to going away together today?' He added tentatively.

'Yes.' Said Jimmy weakly, nodding his head. He glanced towards Thomas in what he hope was a warm manner; being quite unable to stomach the idea of smiling.

He worked the letter open roughly with his fingers, sifting quickly through the pages, noting without enthusiasm that there were no surprises contained within. 'I was expecting this…' He said by way of explanation, glancing again towards Thomas who watched him intently from his perch on the bench. '…it's to do with my statement.'

Thomas nodded. 'Is everything alright there?'

'It's what I was expecting.' Jimmy reiterated dully by way of reply.

Thomas nodded again.

'Mind if I go in?' Said Jimmy after a long pause. 'I have to go and get my tie before I can start sorting out the mess in the library.'

'Of course you can go.' Said Thomas. 'Just, do me a favor and try not to rub Carson up the wrong way anymore; else he won't let us go away this afternoon. He's already angry enough about having Alfred serving in that state for dinner tonight…it's a good job it's just the family around today.'

'Yes Thomas.' Said Jimmy softly before turning to head back into the house.

Thomas frowned.

'Jimmy what's…?' Thomas began, before halting himself. 'Never mind…' He said with a warm smile as Jimmy paused to look back at him. '…we'll talk later.'


	54. Our Interest - Chapter 54

**Our Interest – Chapter 54**

'Do you…' Thomas said tentatively as Jimmy shut the door of the room behind himself. '…want some tea?' He indicated towards the copper teapot suspended by the side of the, as of yet, unlit fire.

'Alright.' Said Jimmy with a weak nod, stepping so gently across the floorboards as to appear almost weightless as he made his way to the somewhat bedraggled rug in front of the fire place, discarding his suitcase (this time the traditional 'empty bag for appearances sake') as he went.

Despite now technically being between Thomas and the teapot, Jimmy made no move to retrieve it, to fill it, or to check that the other necessary tea making (and serving) paraphernalia was present.

Thomas watched Jimmy for a moment. He ran his tongue over his teeth as his brow creased into a slight frown.

Jimmy stared blankly into the stack of wood in the grate.

'Could you…um…' Thomas began, taken aback by the abrupt shift in Jimmy's demeanor upon entering the room; he had seemed almost normal, if a little gloomy, on the bus ride out. But any semblance of life seemed to have evaporated the second he entered the room, away from the public eye. '…never mind.' Thomas said with a smile that was enthusiastic almost to the point of patronising in his effort to brighten the mood.

He ducked down next to Jimmy and shunted around the poorly constructed pile of wood before setting light to it. That done, he set about heating the water and pulled the complimentary tray of tea from the Inn (only the finest in smokey and moldy sawdust flavored leaves) down from the table to rest on the floor by the fireside; deciding against suggesting that they should sit at the two conveniently provided chairs, instead of on the mankey rug, as Jimmy seemed highly attached to his spot by the fire, legs bent to one side as he rested heavily on one arm, watching the sparks come to life.

Thomas cleared his throat in reflexive reaction against the heavy silence as he contorted his legs in front of him to allow him to lean to attend to the tea cups as he sat on the floor, grateful that his blue suit was somewhat more generously proportioned than his livery and thus was only minorly cutting off the circulation in his thighs as he sat.

Jimmy remained silent as Thomas worked. Aside from briefly rubbing his cheek against a raised shoulder to dispel a phantom itch, he remained motionless.

As the seconds ticked by, and the water remained stubbornly unboiled, Thomas began to deeply regret his decision to open their discussion with the offer of tea and developed a passionate hatred for the tea pot.

'Well isn't this nice and awkward.' Said Jimmy dully, rolling his head languidly to the side to look in Thomas's direction.

Thomas blinked in surprise, having become almost convinced that Jimmy had been replaced with some kind of highly life-like statue.

He opened his mouth to deny Jimmy's assertion, to reassure him that everything was fine, but wound up simply nodding gingerly before turning his attention back to the tea pot.

'If you want to start…talking.' Said Thomas gently, speaking to the rug more than Jimmy in an effort to avoid startling him into going on the defensive. 'Please do.'

Jimmy sighed and picked at the loose knots of the rug, pulling up short lengths of coarse wool and discarding them on the floorboards at his feet. He didn't speak.

Thomas's patience gave out with the water; he decided that semi-boiled would have to do.

As he reached for the pot he glanced briefly down, noticing a tiny but very consistent quiver in Jimmy's fingers as he picked apart the rug. Watching him secretly from the corner of his eye while he busied himself with the tea, Thomas took in the agitated speed with which Jimmy's shoulders and chest rose as he breathed.

'Jimmy…' He said warmly, sliding sideways to hook an arm around Jimmy's front to rest softly against his face. '…there's no need to be nervous of me, is there?' He said softly. 'You know I'm just a pussycat really!' He added with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Jimmy glanced up just at the right moment and burst into labored, but genuine, laughter at Thomas's expression.

'I know.' Said Jimmy, giving his body and head a quick shake to dislodge Thomas's arm but nevertheless smiling back at him.

'We've got all night.' Said Thomas as he reached to retrieve the tea cups, handing one over to Jimmy. 'So whatever you want to tell me, you can.'

Jimmy nodded, the liquid inside the tea cup forming a mini maelstrom at the unsteadiness in his hands. He still didn't speak.

'How about we start…' Thomas crossed his legs in front of him, angling himself slightly to the side to enable him to watch Jimmy, who remained dead on to the fireplace. '…with what happened with Alfred?'

As Jimmy moved, Thomas found himself flinching internally in anticipation of the potentially volatile fury the memory might invoke, but he relaxed as it became apparent that Jimmy intended to go no further than another unenthusiastic nod.

'There is something…' Jimmy admitted quietly. 'But it's…it's hard to explain.'

'Like I said…' Thomas smiled, leaning a little towards him, almost unsettling the teacup he had set down in front of himself as he did so. '…we have all night. Take all the time you need.'

Jimmy's head once again bobbed in lackluster agreement. 'I will…try.' He breathed. 'But I don't even really know…' He trailed off, this time shaking his head.

Thomas watched as Jimmy set his tea cup down at the base of brick surround of the fireplace before raising a hand up to smooth the deep lines from of his forehead. He continued to wait as Jimmy sat back, raising his elbows onto his partially bent knees.

'Thomas…' Said Jimmy, his voice infinitely stronger than a few moments previous. '…I will try.' He glanced towards the earnest, if a little tentative, look in Thomas's eyes. 'But there's something else I really need to talk to you about first.'

Thomas nodded vigorously. 'Anything, Jimmy, really.' He said, urging him on.

Jimmy paused for a moment, briefly seeming to have thought better of the notion, before finally speaking. 'It's about the trial…'He said with a sniff.

Thomas frowned, unenthusiastic about that particular topic cutting into their time together in the face of all the other things he hoped to discuss. But he managed to wipe the frown off his face (and keep it from his voice) as he prompted. 'Of course, yes. What about it?'

Jimmy swallowed.

'I don't want to do it.' He said, eyes darting nervously over the rug, floorboards and fireplace.

'Well of course you don't.' Said Thomas, this time not bothering to conceal his frown. 'It's a bad business. And I'm so sorry you're having to take any part of it!'

'No…it's not…'

'Don't worry.' Thomas cut in reassuringly. 'It's only natural that you're nervous, but it'll be over before you know it.'

'No, Thomas.' Said Jimmy. 'You misunderstand; I don't want to do what they've asked, so I'm not going to.'

Thomas's frown rapidly returned. 'But I thought you couldn't just back out.'

'That certainly seems to be the case.' Jimmy said, looking in disdain at the dirt that had collected under his fingernails from his unpicking of the rug. 'But that's not what I mean to do…' Jimmy stopped, closing his eyes briefly before continuing. 'I mean to trick them.'

'Trick who?' Said Thomas warily, starting to suspect that he needn't have bothered going through the excruciating task of making the tea; having absolutely no interest in drinking his, and noting Jimmy's untouched cup by the fireplace.

'The prosecutors.' Said Jimmy, biting his lip, keeping his gaze pointedly fixed on the fireplace rather than meeting Thomas's intense and slightly alarmed stare. 'I mean to trick them…' He swallowed again. '…by denying everything.'

'But they know it's true…' Said Thomas, head cocked to one side as he attempted to puzzle out which part of the equation he was missing.

'Yes…' Jimmy agreed. '…but they're not sure they can prove it. That's why they need me…And I mean to make a statement that lets me explain away everything that originally sounds damning when I'm in court.'

'Why would you do that?' Said Thomas, sliding his tea cup away from him along the floor as he shunted a little closer to Jimmy.

'Because…' Jimmy said, pausing to exhale the excess of air in his lungs before explaining. '…I don't like what they're doing to him. I don't think it's right.'

'I presume you're talking about Anstruther…' Said Thomas slowly. Jimmy nodded. Thomas leaned back away from him, his frown giving way to the openness of blank confusion. 'I don't understand.'

'Well it's not right, is it?' Said Jimmy raising his nose into the air, seemingly challenging the fireplace in his determination to avoid looking at Thomas.

'What's not right about it?' Said Thomas abruptly, craning his neck at a highly abnormal angle in an attempt to draw Jimmy's gaze.

His words, rather than his actions, succeeded in doing so.

'I can't believe you of all people have to ask that.' Said Jimmy accusingly, staring over his shoulder at Thomas with a suddenly very dark expression.

Thomas was too taken aback to ask for clarification, although he had a horrible feeling he had correctly followed Jimmy's line of thought. He rolled his head to the other side, his eyes fixed and full of warning on Jimmy's face.

In his agitation, Jimmy largely missed the warning, not that he would have been likely to pay attention to it if he had noticed it.

'Thomas how can you question the injustice of this, when you've been sent to prison for the same reason?' Said Jimmy, the softening of his mouth and the wideness of his eyes silently pleading with Thomas to concede the point.

Thomas, unfortunately, was not so inclined.

Riling indignantly, drawing his head and shoulders back in surprise, his mouth briefly gaped open as he sharply retorted. 'The fuck I have!'

'Thomas…' Jimmy said softly.

'Don't 'Thomas' me!' He hissed, throat straining as he attempted to reel in the volume that he so desperately wanted to let loose. 'Do you realise what you just did? You just compared me to a WHOREMONGERER!'

'He's a good man!' Said Jimmy pleadingly. 'And what's wrong with how he chooses to spend his money? If his taste was for women you wouldn't think anything of it!'

That did briefly halt Thomas's flow, but he was too far gone to pay much mind to awkward truths.

'I can't believe you would attempt to equate me with that _sick _bastard!'

'For God's sake, Thomas!' Shouted Jimmy, his meek hope breaking to give way to a powerful anger. 'This isn't even about _you_! I'm just trying to tell you that…'

'Why would you want to help him?' Thomas interrupted suddenly, eyes already darkening in anticipation of imagined truths.

Jimmy read Thomas's thoughts perfectly.

'Oh for FUCK's sake!' He spat. 'He was my _employer _Thomas, nothing more!'

'But you did have him, didn't you?' Said Thomas accusingly, the curves of his lips retreating into a thin line as he pulled them tight against his teeth as his nostrils flared.

'You know I did.' Said Jimmy sardonically. 'You also know that as far as I'm concerned, that means absolutely nothing.'

'Well it bloody should.' Thomas retorted scathingly. 'There's something _wrong _with you.'

Jimmy gave a snort of laughter and rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the rug, untying and pulling out the knots with far more vigor than before. 'Fuck…' He plucked out a string. '…you…' He plucked another. '…Mr Barrow…you…ignorant…arse.'

'Oh _very _mature Jimmy.' Said Thomas, a crawling feeling in his stomach alerting him to the fact something had gone horribly wrong somewhere; but he was momentarily incapable of caring.

'Mmmm.' Jimmy hummed, smirking to himself.

'Look…' Said Thomas wearily, his anger dissipating as the moment passed and he was reminded (with and unwelcome pang and slight sinking feeling) of the true purpose of their discussion; Jimmy's progress in destroying the rug taking on something of a therapeutic quality as he watched. Thomas gave a low groan to dispel the remnants of his frustration. '…can we just forget Anstruther for now, eh? There are much more important things that we should be talking about, aren't there…like what made you hurt Alfred?' He said tentatively.

'I'm sorry…' Said Jimmy humorlessly. 'But I'm not inclined to give you anything else to feel personally offended about.'

Thomas mentally flayed himself.

'Jimmy…' Thomas said soothingly, leaning in to draw a placating arm around his shoulders. '…I'm sorry…This is such a…strange situation…'

He was immediately cut off by a quiet, yet deadly insistent, order.

'Take your arm off of me.'

Thomas immediately drew back, suddenly freezing despite the mature fire merely feet away.

It took Thomas a long time to realise precisely _how_, but in that moment he was hit with the knowledge that he had catastrophically fucked up.

He sighed.

'Shall we leave this until the morning?' He said softly.

Jimmy gave a chuckle, his attention still pointedly fixed on the rug. 'Well I don't know what you intend to suggest we do until then, but I'll have no part of it.' He drawled.

Thomas decided that it most definitely wasn't the right moment to address the issue of Jimmy's one track mind.

'Let's just go to bed.' Said Thomas with a weak smile.

'I refer you…' Said Jimmy briskly, abandoning his finesse in loosening the knots of the rug before pulling out the wool, resorting to simply snapping the weaker points. '…back to my previous remark.'

'Jesus Jimmy, I just meant to sleep.'

With a disgruntled groan, Jimmy flicked the pieces of wool off of his fingers and brought both arms back up to his bent knees. He tilted his head to rest his forehead on the palm of one hand while running the other in small circles over the fabric pleats by his knee. He shook his head.

'No you don't want to sleep?' Said Thomas. 'Or no you don't want to share a bed with me?'

'Both.' Said Jimmy sadly.

Despite being secure in the knowledge that he only had himself to blame, the monosyllabic utterance cut Thomas to the core.

'Jimmy I'm sorry.' Thomas whispered.

'_Why_ are you sorry Thomas?' Said Jimmy without missing a beat.

'I…I…' The rising panic in Thomas's breast absolutely refused to allow him to pour over the evening's events and come up with an acceptable answer. '…I'm sorry for whatever I've done to make you angry.'

Jimmy closed his eyes and rested his chin on his knees with a sigh.

'Jimmy, I'm terrible with people…' Said Thomas, panic rapidly spilling over into his expression. '…anyone will tell you that!' He said with a desperate attempt at a laugh. 'Please…just tell me what I can do to make it right.'

'Leave me alone.' Said Jimmy dully. 'You're pathetic desperation is giving me a headache.'

'Please come to bed with me.' Said Thomas quietly. 'Be close to me, please…it'll be so long before we get another chance.'

Jimmy rolled his eyes heavenwards and gave another deep sigh.

'Jimmy I love you as much as I know you love me. This has to hurt you too. You're…_punishing_…us both. And there's no need! Can't we forget about this for tonight? I just want to be next to you, nothing more.'

Nothing.

'Jimmy…'

Thomas watched Jimmy's face disappear behind the curve of his biceps as he wrapped his arms around his knees.

He continued to watch for some time.

When it became apparent there was to be no change, Thomas felt himself break down. His maturing facial features rapidly degenerated into those of an anguished child as he began to cry.

Jimmy raised his head from his arms to look forwards to the fire, his stone cold features declining to even glance in Thomas's direction.

Shaking his head, mouth twisted up tight in an attempt to hold back the tide, Thomas rose from the floor and staggered, heavy-headed, over to the nearest of the two beds.

He discarded his clothes carelessly on the floor and climbed under the covers without looking back.

As he pulled up the sheets firmly to his chin, Thomas nursed the forlorn hope that Jimmy might relent.

But as the night wore on there was no telltale rustle of sheets or dip in the mattress or warmth at his back to herald such a decision.

Thomas woke into almost complete darkness several hours later. He could just about make out that the second bed was unused; a solitary hunched figure still keeping a vigil by the embers in the fireplace, the lamps all turned out.

In his fatigue, the sight was dismissed as a dream, but the sight of the shadows under Jimmy's eyes the next day had him wondering. But Jimmy rapidly made it clear that enquiries as to the state of his health were unwelcome, as were any other words that Thomas could come up with that morning.


	55. Our Interest - Chapter 55

**Our Interest – Chapter 55**

'Ah…Mr Barrow!'

Thomas grimaced, having dearly hoped to slink back into Downton unnoticed. He turned on his heel to face Mr Carson; with his suitcase still in hand and highly strained expression of nonchalant pleasantness on his face.

'Yes, Mr Carson.'

'I trust you are aware that Mr Crawley and Alfred will be leaving this morning…?' Thomas nodded briskly, eager to be on his way. 'So you will understand that I need you ready to work as soon as possible.' Said Carson with the usual stern reproachfulness that accompanied his greeting to any staff member who had decided (for however short a time period) that Downton was not their primary concern.

Thomas couldn't keep his forehead from creasing a little in agitation, even as he kept the easy expression stretched over the rest of his face. He failed to see why Carson felt the need to inform him of something so blatantly obvious, although he suspected putting him back in his place after the brief sojourn might play a part; but there was the far more pressing problem of…

'James.' Said Carson, glancing over Thomas's shoulder as the back door creaked open.

Thomas closed his eyes in frustration. Throughout the seething silence of the morning, the thought of walking side by side into Downton together following the excruciating bus ride was deeply unappealing. And as an act of defiance, his anger burning just that little bit brighter than Jimmy's (although the few hours of sleep he had managed also swayed the balance of action in his favor) Thomas had made a point of striding ahead to reach the house first.

Jimmy had lacked the inclination or the energy to challenge him.

The last time Thomas had looked back Jimmy had been a good thirty or so paces behind him on the Downton driveway, and Thomas had felt reasonably secure in being able to make it up to the attic rooms to deposit his things (after firmly shutting his bedroom door) before Jimmy could catch up.

Clearly his luck was shot.

'James I trust you will also be ready to resume your duties, and Alfred's, as soon as possible…' Carson paused, waiting for an answer that didn't come. Thomas resisted the urge to turn around, wondering if he could get away with simply making a break for the staircase. '…You will respond to my query _properly_, James!' Said Carson indignantly.

Thomas could only assume that Jimmy had nodded rather than vocalizing; and couldn't help but note that it was a bit rich of Mr Carson to lay into Jimmy for doing so given that he had just gotten away with it.

'Yes, Mr Carson.' Said Jimmy, his voice gravelly as though nursing a heavy cold.

'Are you quite well James?' Said Mr Carson, briefly redirecting his gaze questioningly to Thomas, who was caught off guard and could only stare blankly back and shrug.

'Yes, Mr Carson.' Said Jimmy.

Still refusing to turn back to look at Jimmy, Thomas looked instead at Mr Carson, who looked far from convinced.

Thomas already knew what the outcome was going to be (Carson holding Jimmy to task, illness or no provided he stayed on his feet), and had no interest in enduring the lengthy climb up the stairs with a sullen Jimmy in tow.

'I'd best be getting ready for the day.' Said Thomas, giving a brief nod to Carson as he went.

Both he and Jimmy were back downstairs in under twenty minutes to attend to the daily grind, which seemed particularly claustrophobic and bleak that morning.

Thomas was eager for the excuse to stand back out in the sun, even if it meant working in close proximity to the relentlessly silent Jimmy, as he helped see off Matthew and Alfred. He caught himself watching after Alfred and Matthew's car a little enviously as they swept out of the driveway. Shaking his head a little in amusement at the thought of being jealous of Alfred he allowed himself a brief glance towards Jimmy.

Jimmy stared blankly ahead, more gravel-wards than sky-wards, paying him (or their recently departed cohabitants) no attention whatsoever.

Thomas's head shake took on a more bitter edge, as he wondered how long Jimmy intended to continue giving him the silent treatment; partly hoping that Jimmy would be petulant enough to allow it to interfere with his work so that he could deal out appropriate negative consequences (the idea pleasing him more than he cared to admit), as while he knew exactly how things should go between an Under Butler and a First Footman, he had no idea of the appropriate level of castigation when it came to dealing with an uncooperative and uncommunicative lover.

'I've got the most powerful headache!' Winced Matthew as he put his gloved hand up to shield his eyes. It was a pointless gesture. The sun had been blazing on, and through, the window on his side of the car for a good few hours and the ruts in the road to the extremity of the estate they were visiting that afternoon had his makeshift sun-shade bouncing the shadow everywhere but his pale eyes.

Alfred, safe on the shaded side of the car, gave a small smile of sympathy; partly because he didn't want to seem too smug, partly because his injured nose was still far too mobile (and painful) to risk putting any strain on the muscles around it.

'Remind me…' Said Matthew as he hunched forwards to leaf through the papers poking out the top of his leather satchel. '…who's next?'

'Mr Carter.' Said Alfred immediately, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the small group happily picnicking on the village green and the church with the unusual spire that he quite approved of beyond. 'The one who told us about his dead wife…' Matthew still looked none the wiser, pulling out his papers and attempting to refresh his memory. '…the one with all those plates on the parlor wall…' Alfred tried again.

'Ah! Yes! I have him.' Said Matthew happily. 'Quite the chatty fellow. Has a son. Always smoking.'

'That's the one.' Said Alfred, holding out his hands to help Matthew keep ahold of the stack of loose papers.

'You'd make quite the clerk, you know!' Laughed Matthew as Alfred succeeded in saving the carefully alphabetized papers from ending up on the floor of the car.

Alfred grinned thinly, mindful of his nose, as well as his true aspirations. 'I just try and do the best I can.' He said.

'The Old Millhouse, Winswick Estate.' Announced the Chauffeur.

'Thank you!' Called Matthew through the partition to the driver's cab. He turned to Alfred. 'Don't think I mean to give offence, but would you mind staying with Mr Carter's son today rather than joining the two of us in the parlor?'

Alfred pressed his lips together and gave a small, slightly grudging nod.

'Now don't you be thinking this is about your face!' Said Matthew quickly. 'Or the degree to which I trust you.' Matthew glanced towards the house and briefly up and down the road to make sure no one had come to greet them before continuing. 'It's just that I have some highly probing financial questions that I must ask Mr Carter today and I think it would be best if his son were spared the indignity of being ordered out of the room during our discussions. That's all.' Said Matthew, searching Alfred's bruised face with concern.

'I understand, Mr Crawley.' Said Alfred.

'Brilliant.' Matthew smiled. 'I'd much rather swap with you I can tell you!' He joked as he pushed open the car door. 'It's rather hard to find a way to keep both parties happy when it comes to conflict over a debt accrued throughout the better part of a decade!'

Alfred laughed and slid along the seat to follow him out.

The usual dumpy housekeeper greeted them at the door (the handy-man cum butler always being occupied in the local stables in the early afternoon) and ushered them into the parlor where a young man sat reading, glancing up at them somewhat ill-humoredly as they entered.

Mr Carter was nowhere to be seen.

Matthew gave Alfred an unsubtle nudge.

Transfixed by the twisting and exotic patterns on the ludicrously over-stacked plates in the large display cupboard, Alfred promptly forgot the hint he was supposed to take.

'I wonder…' Said Matthew brightly. '…if you might mind taking Mr Nugent here for a walk around the gardens while I talk business with your father? His eyes are always on stalks on the drive down here, I'm sure he would love to see more of the land beyond the house.'

The young man looked very unimpressed.

'What a capital idea!' Exclaimed a warm voice from the doorway behind them.

Alfred and Matthew turned in time to see the stocky form of Mr Carter entering the room, face looking decidedly rosy after over-exposure to the sunshine of the morning (how Alfred's skin would no doubt have looked had he and Matthew sat the other way round in the car) with far too much of…something…slicking his thin, almost white, blond hair into a precision parting.

From the chair, the young man still looked unimpressed.

'Come on Peter, let's not be rude to our guests!' Said Mr Carter in a jovial voice more suited to training a dog than a man. 'You know how it bores you to hear about figures and suchlike!'

Grudgingly nodding, Peter slid out of the chair, book still in hand, and motioned for Alfred to follow him into the hallway.

Alfred briefly glanced back to see Mr Carter settling into Peter's seat, with Matthew laying out a set of papers before him.

He glanced at his sullen companion, who was in the process of vigorously throwing open the back door without pausing to collect his jacket or hat. Alfred was surprised at the degree to which that scandalised him, clearly the rigid etiquette of Downton had had more of an impact on his sensibilities than he had thought.

'We'll go the bottom and then back.' Said Peter gruffly.

'Lovely.' Said Alfred dubiously, easily able to match Peter's fast marching pace as he lead the way in a direct line down the lawn of the garden, ignoring the stands of ornamental trees and vegetable gardens to the side in his clear haste to get the unwelcome task over with as soon as possible.

'So…' Said Alfred awkwardly when it became apparent that the walk to the end of the garden would take longer than planned despite the speed of Peter's strides. '…do you work in the village?'

Peter gave a derisive snort. 'Course not.' He said by way of reply.

'Oh.' Said Alfred. 'Are you…still studying?'

'No.'

Alfred found himself mentally likening the conversation to the equally rewarding activity of squeezing a stone for blood…suspecting his own blood would be drawn if he continued to attempt it.

They finally reached the bottom of the garden, marked by a small lake shielded by a rise in the ground to the right, shaded on the garden side by a large willow tree.

'I was…' Said Peter suddenly, making Alfred jump a little in surprise. '…but I didn't get on well with school.'

'I'm…sorry to hear that.' Said Alfred, not quite knowing what else to say, looking out across the inviting water as speckles of sunlight fell through the leaves of the willow.

'I don't miss it.' Said Peter simply, abruptly spinning to face back towards the house again. 'They were all idiots.' He began to stride back up the garden every bit as speedily as before.

Alfred stared dubiously after him before following.

'Well I wouldn't suggest a career as a diplomat…' He muttered under his breath, dearly hoping that Matthew would let him rejoin him and Mr Carter in the parlor rather than compelling him to endure more time alone in the company of the sour faced youth.


	56. Our Interest - Chapter 56

**Our Interest – Chapter 56**

'I've never heard such a request!' Declared Carson, his hands somewhat melodramatically reaching to grasp the desk in front of him for support.

His body weight brought the back two legs of the chair off the floor entirely for a moment as he lurched forwards, staring in alarm. 'That is _completely _out of the question and I am _astonished _you would bring such a request to me.'

In front of the desk, quietly sullen and externally unaffected by Carson's display save for a slight droop at the right corner of his mouth, Jimmy stood with his arms clasped loosely behind his back.

'What ever do you need it for?' Carson demanded once the initial indignation had worn off (and all four chair legs safely returned to the ground).

'If it's out of the question…' Jimmy muttered, his jaw on edge as he glared down at the floor. '…then why would I tell you?'

The various items atop Carson's desk rattled as he brought his hand down sharply on the wood.

Jimmy blinked.

'Don't you dare take that tone with me!' Carson cautioned. 'If a member of staff comes to me to ask for money I have every right to query why, given that room and board is part and parcel of their employment here, additional money is required!'

'I'm only asking for what's due to me...just a few weeks ahead of when it's due.' Said Jimmy dully.

'Have you got yourself into some sort of trouble?' Said Carson, eyeing him intensely. '_More_ trouble.' Carson added with a dark look. 'Or is this related to the upcoming…?'

'Forget it!' Jimmy cut in abruptly. 'Thank you for your time.' He mumbled sourly as he headed for the door.

'You will halt THIS INSTANT!' Carson shouted.

Jimmy came to a stop, rolling his eyes before languidly turning back towards the desk.

'And none of that!' Exclaimed Carson, unswervingly able to detect cheek even when it occurred outside of his direct line of sight.

Jimmy fought the urge to laugh.

'If you are in some sort of financial trouble then you _will_ tell me.' Carson said levelly.

'I'm not.' Said Jimmy, truthfully. 'There's just something extra I wish I could afford.'

Unwilling to lower his dignity by repeating the enquiry, given Jimmy's clear reluctance to cooperate, Carson decided first that the consequences of his silence, should it prove to be a mistake, would fall on Jimmy's head irregardless (thus further interest on his part was unnecessary), and second that he might as well take advantage of the relative privacy of the office to bring up something that had been repeatedly whispered in the servant's hall (and somewhat loudly exclaimed in his office while taking tea with Mrs Hughes).

'James…' He began, sitting back in his chair and tenting his fingers across his lap. '…I don't need to tell you that your work, demeanor and personal presentation are lately falling below the standards required of this house...' Jimmy pursed his lips. '…I wonder if you are perhaps tired?'

Jimmy's eyes reluctantly met Carson's.

'I notice the last two days you have seemed to be…struggling…especially. Is this because you find the task of covering Alfred's duties too much…?' Carson's words were not entirely unsympathetic, although the subtext of reproach still carried a sting. 'Should I perhaps arrange for Mr Barrow to work more closely with you to help…?'

'No.' Jimmy blurted out, too quickly and too firmly by far. 'No…thank you, Mr Carson.' Jimmy added, far too late to expunge the dark look that had fallen across Carson's features. 'I can manage.'

'If something has happened between yourself and Mr Barrow…' Said Carson, suddenly looking just as uncomfortable as Jimmy and eager to conclude the conversation. '…it must not be allowed to interfere with the running of this household.'

'Yes, Mr Carson.' Said Jimmy meekly.

Carson nodded, eager to give an aura of success to the conclusion of their discussion despite nothing of note having actually been achieved.

'Alfred is expected back with Mr Crawley this afternoon. I trust you will be ready to handle the luggage?'

'Yes, Mr Carson.'

Jimmy was as good as his word; lugging up the suitcases and satchels to Matthew's room upon his return; angrily noting that Alfred should be the one performing the task, rather than gallivanting off to his own room to get his uniform back on, as Jimmy highly suspected (whatever Carson's misgivings) that Matthew couldn't give less of a fig for whether Alfred was in uniform or not when it came to carrying suitcases.

As the afternoon wore on Jimmy was at first pleasantly surprised to find Alfred disinclined to gush about his trip as they went about gathering up cups in the upstairs rooms shortly after his arrival. His spat with Mr Carson had kindled something of a ache at the back of his head, and Jimmy had far too busy a mind to tolerate Alfred's stories.

Although, late that night as he briefly hovered unseen in the corridor outside the servant's hall, Jimmy felt something of a twinge of upset as the sound of Alfred enthusiastically joking about the sullen son of one of the clients with seemingly all other staff members but him.

Shaking his head dismissively Jimmy turned to plod heavily up the stairs, beginning to work his tie undone as he went, not particularly caring if he should meet anyone on the way.

The staircase and the attic corridor were quite deserted, still lit by a hint of remnant sunlight due to the steadily lengthening days.

Jimmy hung his clothes over the side of the chair in his bedroom; deciding that hanging up his uniform in the cupboard or fishing his pyjamas out of the drawer was far too much effort for his weary body.

He collapsed on top of the bedcovers, wearing the underwear he hadn't bothered to change the day before, and stared at the overly familiar cracks in the ceiling above.

_'So…' Anstruther crooned in a teasing voice. '…what do you think?'_

_Jimmy stared down at the foreign, silky…thing…on the bed._

_'I think…' Said Jimmy. '…that you have gone to far too much trouble this time!' _

_Anstruther gave a small snort of laughter. 'The theme is the 'Mysterious Orient'…' He swept around the bed, the tails on his tail-coat briefly billowing as he went. '…and this…' He pulled up the largest of the silks, a thin, richly embroidered coat, and held it up to Jimmy's front. '…is both mysterious and oriental.' _

_'What is it?' Said Jimmy, taking the weight of the garment from Anstruther and looking down quizzically at the strange sleeves. _

_'It's a Chinese coat. Or at least, a variation on one!' Anstruther said with a smile as he crossed over to his dressing table to check his hair. 'Come on…' He said with a quick glance over his shoulder. '…You'd best start getting into it.'_

_'Of course.' Said Jimmy, regarding it dubiously for a moment longer before draping it back over the bed and attending to the task of getting out of his uniform. 'Did you really get one of these for all of us?'_

_'Mmmmm…' Said Anstruther, moving away from the dressing table to stand in front of the three floor length mirrors on the adjacent wall; watching Jimmy out of the corner of his eye as he undressed before pulling on the silken trousers and long coat. '…yes. There's green for Mike and Tony, blue for Tim…' Anstruther trailed off as he turned and walked over to Jimmy._

_Jimmy stood still as Anstruther adjusted the shoulders of the coat to make the upstanding collar sit properly at his throat, before beginning to do up the first of multiple sets of tiny buttons running down the front and side. _

_Anstruther sighed as he reached down for the thick swath of fabric that was to act as the belt as he let Jimmy attend to the task of the rest of the buttons which ran (due to the length of the coat) down past his knees._

_'Really I should have saved the blue for you and given this one to Tim' He said ruefully. 'I'm not sure this red quite goes with your complexion.'_

_'Then it wouldn't go with Tim's either, would it?' Said Jimmy, holding his arms out to let Anstruther loop the silk scarf around his waist. _

_'Yes…but you're my permanent employee and therefore the important one.' Smiled Anstruther. _

_'I suppose.' Laughed Jimmy. _

_'That's not too bad though…' Said Anstruther, taking a step back to admire his handiwork after tying the belt. _

_'It's quite…modest…compared to the usual fare.' Said Jimmy, looking down at himself._

_'True…' Anstruther reached forward to brush his fingers lightly over Jimmy's chest, his fingers slipping happily over the smooth fabric. '…but it feels good to the touch.'_

_'Knock knock…' Drawled a voice from the partially open bedroom door. _

_Jimmy and Anstruther turned to see Tim leaning on the doorframe, a shorter brunette man waiting a few paces behind him._

_'My goodness you look…interesting.' Said Tim as he eyed Jimmy._

_'You'll find yours in the Reading Room.' Said Anstruther. 'I need you downstairs ready to serve drinks in half an hour.'_

_'Yes sir.' Said Tim with a brief bow, disappearing rapidly down the corridor with the other man in tow._

_'Interesting?' Said Jimmy, imitating Tim's voice, looking up at Anstruther. _

_'It's marvelous!' Insisted Anstruther, spinning Jimmy about and marching him over to the floor length mirrors. 'Take a look.'_

_With a final wry glance over his shoulder at Anstruther, Jimmy turned to regard his reflection. _

_His face instantly took on a pale hue, far more suited to the red of the coat than his usual complexion, as his mouth fell open slightly. _

_He raised a shaky hand to tug lightly on the 'skirt' of the coat as he stared at himself. _

_'It looks like a…um…' _

_'Don't you like it?' Said Anstruther, his concerned reflection peering back at Jimmy from over his shoulder. _

_'No, no, I don't mean…' Said Jimmy. 'It's fine…really.' He smoothed down the front of the coat and exhaled sharply. 'It's fine.' _

_He smiled weakly._

_'Jimmy you don't look 'fine'…' Said Anstruther._

_'I am…' Jimmy raised a hand up to tug at the side of the constricting collar in an attempt to relieve the feeling of being suffocated. 'I just…' _

_Jimmy's fingers suddenly fell upon the buttons. 'I want this off.' _

_'What?' _

_'Help me.' Said Jimmy breathlessly, beginning to wheeze in distress at the suddenly highly unwelcome feeling of the fabric and the ridiculously large amount of buttons that stood between him and removing it._

_'Jimmy…?' Said Anstruther, taking a confused step backwards as he stared at his panic. 'What on earth…?'_

_'Help me!' Jimmy shouted._

_'Alright...' Anstruther quickly moved back towards him again, yanking on the tightly knotted belt to pull it loose. 'Alright, it's alright…Calm down…'_

_Jimmy gave a howl of frustration as the buttons continued to impede his efforts to get the offending article off even after Anstruther succeeded in removing the belt. _

_'It's ok!' Said Anstruther desperately, taking hold of Jimmy's shoulders in an effort to pacify him. 'It's alright…'_

_'Get it off!' Wailed Jimmy, abandoning his fumbling with the buttons in frustration after pulling two nails painfully away from the nail beds on his right hand. _

_'Alright…' Shaking his head for a moment in impotent panic, Anstruther rapidly collected himself enough to take ahold of the fabric at both sides of Jimmy's waist and pull until the buttons gave way, scattering over the floor._

_Jimmy swept the coat off his shoulders before dropping down to join it, and the buttons, on the floor. _

_'Jimmy…?' Said Anstruther gently, watching the rise and fall of Jimmy's back (a pink rash spread across it from shoulder to waist) as he hunched over and sobbed. 'My God…'_

_Anstruther dropped to his knees behind him, pausing for a moment in uncertainty before wrapping his arms around him in a firm but gentle embrace. He softly kissed the inflamed skin at the back of Jimmy's neck, swaying him a little as the sobs continued unabated. _

_He glanced quickly over at the clock._

_'Jimmy…' He said, leaning his head over Jimmy's shoulder. '…You know what's going to happen now? You're going to go to bed. Right now.' He felt, rather than heard, Jimmy's protest in the tensing of his muscles. 'No! That's an order. I don't want to see you downstairs tonight.' Anstruther released him and got up unsteadily to his feet. 'You get this cleaned up…' He indicated the scatter of buttons and fabric surrounding Jimmy like a small pen. '…then you go to bed.' _

_He quickly checked himself in the mirror before heading over to the door. _

_'I'll see you in the morning as usual Jimmy.' He said. 'Be sure to have the car ordered to take me to the train…I have to catch the ferry back tomorrow.'_

_'Yes, my Lord…' Said Jimmy quietly. 'Thank you, my Lord.' He added in an even smaller voice. _

Brushing a hand through the tangled mess that had been a precision hairstyle the evening before, Jimmy craned his head against the pillow to glance at the skylight above

He read in the position of the sun's rays that it was very nearly time to be about the day's business.

And he felt like he'd had no sleep at all.

He really could have used some though.

Especially at the moment where non-work related necessity obliged him to speak to Thomas for the first time in two days.

And ask him for money.


	57. Our Interest - Chapter 57

**Our Interest – Chapter 57**

Thomas was not used to being on the receiving end of well-meaning sympathy.

It didn't take him long to decide he abhorred it.

He wasn't quite sure what gave it away; it could have been his inability to muster a smile (or in fact any form of response) when questioned about the trip, it could have been the dullness behind his eyes that persisted even when Jimmy joined them back downstairs to begin work, it could have been the painfully obvious lack of words being exchanged between the two of them, essentially, as Daisy so simply explained to him that night, he 'just didn't seem himself'.

Whatever it was, everyone downstairs (and he suspected upstairs too thanks to the likes of the spiteful O'Brien and the annoyingly concerned Anna and Bates) knew that something had gone awry.

Over the next few days following their return from the Inn, the only thing more instantly irritating to Thomas than Jimmy's presence was the reaction it elicited from almost everyone else in the room. Knowing looks laced with understanding, sympathy and reassurance...Thomas had never felt more humiliated in his life.

And of course, there was the problem of Jimmy himself.

Aside from the occasional obligatory 'Yes, Mr Barrow' he hadn't had a single word from Jimmy.

Thomas was at a complete loss.

The sting of rejection (not to mention shock at how dramatically the situation had managed to deteriorate) coupled with Jimmy's relentless stubborn silence largely expunged any lingering unease Thomas felt about his own part in their falling out.

And he was quite determined, despite the ease with which he could engineer or force a conversation due to his relative position of authority, that Jimmy should come to him and ask (as the hours wore on the word altered to 'beg') to re-open the lines of communication; once he'd had enough of the cold shoulder of course.

The idea that Jimmy might NOT didn't even occur to him at first.

But just like a watched pot that refuses to boil, a sulking lover monitored out of the corner of one's eye refuses to speak.

And Thomas had been monitoring him very closely. Or rather, repeatedly glancing over only to angrily cast his eyes away again upon noting that the object of his attentions had no intention of sparing him a glance in return.

Each and every failed sideways glance irritated him further.

So by the end of the second day of silence Thomas simply stopped looking.

His irritation refused to fade.

He was frustrated, humiliated, desperately curious and concerned, but impotent to do anything to ameliorate the cause.

Having discarded the notion of making the first move towards some kind of truce, if not reconciliation; Thomas's pride (particularly inflamed by the unwelcome realisation that Jimmy didn't seem nearly as affected by being shunned by Thomas as Thomas was of being shunned by him) utterly forbade any back-tracking on that account.

The sole indication that, at least on his part, the situation was still potentially salvageable, was his decision to refuse the offer to 'take tea' with Mrs Hughes. He wasn't sure if his refusal was based around the desire for privacy or a fear of what she might say, but it was a courtesy to Jimmy none the less.

The silence stretched onwards. Thomas let it. The security of proximity, the certainty that there would always be another day in which the issue _could _be addressed given their shared residency, removed some of the impetus to attack the problem head on.

But the situation was excruciating nonetheless.

Thomas had found himself seeking the relative solitude of the kitchens to avoid the worst of it, sharing quiet conversation with Daisy as she went about her evening's work, but he risked returning to the servant's hall on the evening of Alfred's return; trusting that Alfred's eagerness to relay his adventures would finally remove some of the focus from himself and the increasingly nebulous Jimmy.

He was correct.

However, Alfred's grumbling about an inadequate garden tour from a petulant youth rapidly brought his mind back to Jimmy.

A reflexive glance around the table (having earlier made a point of _not_ glancing around the table) alerted him to the fact that Jimmy was not present. He immediately kicked himself for caring.

But, despite all the very rational reasons against it, Thomas found his footfalls slowing slightly as he entered the attic corridor that evening; carrying him past his own room and towards Jimmy's.

There was no light under the door, and no sound to be heard.

Shaking his head at his own foolishness Thomas quickly retraced his steps back towards his own room, for the briefest moment nursing the hope (as he had done each night since their return) that he would find Jimmy there, waiting to finally speak to him.

Of course, he was quite alone upon entering his bedroom.

He _wasn't _alone in his dreams. But the cold light of day rapidly shoed away the residual warmth in his breast as the shout to rise echoed down the corridor.

Deciding that he could happily do without toast at breakfast for the sake of an early morning smoke, Thomas paused briefly to beg a hot-chocolate from Daisy (deciding that even tea might be too harsh on his nerves at that moment) before heading out to the yard with a newspaper from the day before; the greater chance of finding the outside benches and table dry in the morning was another highly welcome benefit of the advancing spring along with the lengthening days, and on this particular morning Thomas was able to take a seat without the need to faff too much with his handkerchief to protect his livery.

Clearing his throat contentedly as the curls of smoke from the freshly lit cigarette in one hand mingled with the steam coming off the hot-chocolate he held in the other, creating a beautiful nasal indulgence, he leant forwards over the paper laid out on the table in front of him.

A very short while later the small smile at his lips rapidly faded at the realisation he was not alone.

Somehow knowing (rather than hoping) who was standing behind him, Thomas waited.

He was left waiting a long while before Jimmy moved round to the side of the table to stand beside him.

'Mr…Thomas.' Jimmy began, clearly having been wrestling with the best form of address with which to open the discussion, and failing to convincingly commit to either. '…I need to know…if you would be willing to lend me some money?' Jimmy said, looking sheepishly at the floor.

Momentarily taken completely aback, Thomas was soon consumed by an inky blackness blotting it's way through his heart.

'Funny…' Said Thomas darkly, taking a drag on his cigarette. '…that's not how apologies sound where I'm from…'


	58. Our Interest - Chapter 58

**Our Interest – Chapter 58**

The reproachful and dispassionate dullness of Thomas's words was mirrored precisely in Jimmy's response. Although exhaustion, and a fear that his request may be refused (something his mind absolutely refused to acknowledge despite the almost complete certainty of failure) prevented him from offering up any scathingly sardonic wit of his own; his mind far too preoccupied to grapple with the question of whether or not an apology was called for in light of recent events and, if so, who should be making it.

'I haven't come here to fight with you…Thomas.' Said Jimmy, utterly without inflection, his blank gaze lingering awkwardly somewhere on the far side of the yard. 'I just need to know if you can loan me…'

'So…' Thomas cut in, his voice twisting to become animated and droll as his mind grappled with the perceived sheer ridiculousness of the situation. '…not only are you _not_ here to apologise, you're also _not_ here to talk either?' He said, shaking his head more for his own benefit that Jimmy's.

'Thomas…'

'Did you honestly think I would? Just like that?' Thomas exclaimed, ignoring Jimmy's attempt to speak. 'After what you did at the Inn? After snubbing me, repeatedly, in front of _everyone_…?'

'It's not about that!' Jimmy blurted out desperately, his voice several octaves higher than usual. He immediately shrank back into himself, blinking in surprise at the momentary loss of control.

Thomas lacked the inclination to do so much as raise an eyebrow.

'Go on then…' He said, a hint of spiteful amusement in his voice. '…surprise me. What do you need the money for?' Thomas abandoned the paper and mug on the table entirely, leaning sideways on one elbow, giving Jimmy his full attention save for the cigarette he held poised inches from his mouth with the other.

Jimmy looked awkwardly down at the floor.

He gave a small kick to a piece of moss that had detached itself from between the paving slabs, and stayed silent.

Thomas threw his head back and gave a very hearty laugh.

Jimmy's face immediately snapped back up again, his eyes darkening at Thomas's mirth.

'I don't believe it!' Thomas eventually wheezed out as his peals of amusement subsided. 'You actually think…after everything…that you can just walk up to me and demand money…with no intention of telling me what it's for?'

'It's important or I wouldn't be asking.' Jimmy asserted unhappily, his tentative voice at odds with the growing darkness in his eyes; something that served to further increase Thomas's mildly hysterical reaction.

'Well you'll be getting nothing from me unless you tell me what it's for…and the rest.' Thomas smirked, letting a mouthful of smoke escape messily from between his teeth. 'That is unless you fancy going to Mr Carson for the…' Thomas couldn't fail to notice the sudden rightward shift of Jimmy's eyes. 'Oh my God…' Said Thomas, momentarily stunned. 'You've already asked him, haven't you?'

With an aggressive sigh Jimmy gave a reluctant nod of his head.

'And he refused…?' Thomas continued to stare in wonder.

_Oh no…He gave it to me alright…I'm just here for my daily dose of verbal flagellation. _

_Idiot._

'He refused.' Jimmy repeated Thomas's words flatly.

'You must be desperate to ask him.' Said Thomas quietly, a little of the earlier venom any hysteria in his demeanor making way for a lick of fear as to precisely why Jimmy was in need of money quite so badly.

The flash of pseudo-concern abruptly subsided as another thought pushed itself to the forefront of Thomas's mind. 'If you need it so much…why didn't you come to _me_ first?' He said. 'Jesus Jimmy…are things really that bad between us right now?'

_Why do you ALWAYS have to make everything about YOU?_

_[Yes…but why didn't you go to him first?]_

_I do NOT have time for this. Not now._

'Thomas I don't have time for this.' Said Jimmy. 'Can we please just…'

'Talk later?' Thomas interjected. 'No.'

He flicked the cigarette angrily across the yard, leaning heavily on the table with one elbow as he glared at Jimmy.

'Jimmy, you ran out of 'laters' a while ago.'

'For God's sake Thomas!' Jimmy shouted, loudly. 'I cannot even begin to fathom what is happening _here_…' He wildly swept his hand across the dead space between them. '…or how I feel about it…' He stomped forwards a few paces to grab ahold of the edge of the table, looming angrily over Thomas's seated form. '…because I've got more important things to think about right now!'

'More important?' Thomas said levelly, turning his head up to meet Jimmy's agitated gaze with a seethingly accusatory one of his own.

_No…not more important. More pressing. _

_I sort this out and then we have all the time in the world to…_

_[Bastard only thinks of himself…]_

'Yes, more important.'

'Well then…' Said Thomas dismissively, his face far paler than usual as he got to his feet. 'You can just go _fuck_ yourself, can't you?'

Thomas reached with a shaky hand to gather up the assortment of items on the table in front of him.

'Thomas, please.' Said Jimmy, his voice suddenly weak and fearful. He swung himself around the corner of the table to press against Thomas's side, covering one of Thomas's hands with his own. 'I'm sorry.' He whispered. 'It's driving me mad, Thomas. The trial is driving me mad. It's all the trial. It's all I can think about.' He said hurriedly, leaning his forehead to the side of Thomas's face, feeling Thomas's eyes clench shut in the pull of the muscles at his temple. 'Just give me until it's over…' He spoke into Thomas's cheek, uncomfortably aware that a few unbidden tears had escaped to run down his cheek before leaving his own face to trail down Thomas's jaw.

Jimmy noted with intense relief that Thomas hadn't tried to pull away; aware that that might well be as good as things were likely to get in terms of acquiescence.

'Will you…' Jimmy said tentatively. '_Can _you be patient with me, please?'

'Why don't you trust me to _help_ you?' Said Thomas miserably, splaying the fingers of his left hand out to encourage Jimmy's fingers to sink into the gaps between.

_Because of your reaction at the inn._

'It's not that I don't trust you…' Jimmy turned his head to look down at their entwined fingers; the sight causing something remarkably akin to physical pain. He couldn't think of a way to end the sentence, allowing his words to simply trail off.

'We'll sort out everything when it's over, yes?' Said Jimmy, briefly burying his nose in Thomas's cheek again to inhale the scent of his skin through the cloaking effect of residual cigarette smoke that turned his stomach.

He pulled back, leaving his hand still resting over Thomas's.

Thomas didn't move.

'Thomas…? Is that alright…?' Jimmy said softly.

'Suppose it'll have to be.' Said Thomas humorlessly.

Thomas turned himself around to rest his flank against the side of the table, extracting his hand from under Jimmy's and rubbing it against his cheek as though wishing to dispel the residual aspect of his touch.

'What do you need the money for Jimmy?' He asked with a distinct air of finality.

'For one of the men named as witness in the trial…he's in the trade…like I was….' Said Jimmy, speaking a little too naturally and nonchalantly for Thomas's liking. '…I'm worried he might give the police evidence they can use against me…because if I go ahead with my plan, and the trial goes Lord Anstruther's way, he and the others probably won't get what they were promised by the police…' The increasing look of triumph in Jimmy's eyes as each piece of the story fell into place as he rattled it off wasn't to Thomas's liking either. '…and they'll find it harder to get work after appearing at a trial like this…it could make him angry…' Jimmy took a final deep breath. '…so I want to offer him a bribe.'

He regarded Thomas's face carefully as he finished speaking.

For a while, Thomas's expression gave nothing away. Then he gave a small nod.

'Alright.' Said Thomas quietly. 'I don't like it, but alright.'

'Oh thank you!' Said Jimmy, swaying a little on his feet, eyes briefly closing in relief.

'So where do I find this man?' Thomas continued.

'What?' Jimmy's relief was instantly replaced with panic. 'No!'

'Why not?' Said Thomas, now scrutinizing Jimmy's face just as intently as Jimmy had watched his.

'Because…'

_Think!_

'…because you'll have to go into a dodgy place to ask where to find him…a house of _ill repute_. And that would be dangerous given what you just got out of prison for, wouldn't it?'

'You know damn well I wasn't imprisoned for 'indecent acts'.' Said Thomas bluntly. 'And the way I see it, there's a far greater danger of you being recognised by your old…colleagues and…clients.' Thomas reluctantly added without enthusiasm. 'And you can't afford to be exposed right before you intend to attempt to plead complete innocence for yourself and a Lord. You honestly think the police won't be keeping an eye on the places that their _witnesses_ frequent?' Said Thomas with a cold look. 'They won't recognise _me_. Besides…'He continued. '…do you honestly think Mr Carson is going to let you have more time off after all the mistakes you've made lately? I'm assuming this bloke of yours doesn't exactly live in the local village…? And remember, I'm the one with the money.' Said Thomas, something resembling smugness crossing his lips as Jimmy grappled with his astonishment at the vehemence of Thomas's reasoning; and his certainty that there was absolutely no way to argue the last point.

Jimmy sighed and hung his head.

'Manchester.' He said defeatedly. 'Not far from the municipal hall…three streets and an alleyway away…there's a public house called 'The Bellows' .' Jimmy sighed again. 'Ask for Timothy Hall…He'll know me by name. If he doesn't trust you, mention his wife and daughter…most people don't know about them, he kept his lives separate.'

Thomas nodded slowly, a little taken aback at the ease with which Jimmy surrendered the information; having suspected that his assertiveness in insisting upon being the one to make the visit would force Jimmy to admit to having lied about the circumstances surrounding the need for the loan. Yet there the information was…

'How much money were you wanting to offer him?' Said Thomas, suddenly realising that he really ought to have established the monetary value they were arguing over _before_ insisting upon being allowed to deliver it.

Jimmy thought for a long while before answering.

'Whatever you think is best when you meet him.' He said, summoning up a weak and fleeting smile.

'Right…' Said Thomas, deeply lost in thought himself, overcome with trepidation at the task he had just agreed to now that the heat of the moment and the adrenaline of triumphing over Jimmy's secrecy was wearing away.

'Right.' Thomas said again. 'I'll ask Mr Carson when I can go.

'Thank you Thomas.' Said Jimmy as Thomas gathered up his paper, mug and cigarette packet from the table.

Thomas went to make his way to the back door, but paused for a moment to regard Jimmy over his shoulder.

'Say again why you're doing all this for Anstruther?' He said neutrally.

'He's a kind man.' Said Jimmy with a quirk of his head, absently turning his palms outwards as he shrugged his shoulders.

'That's all the reason there is?' Thomas persisted, venom creeping back into his voice.

'Is that not enough?'

Thomas wasn't sure if it was Jimmy's words or his face; but something about his response so reminded him of the Jimmy that had resided in his mind, an impossibly good and glowing creature, ardently nurtured by hopeful fantasy for months before his disastrous attempt to bring his imaginings into the realms of reality; the unwelcome revelations that later followed having rendered that original version of Jimmy almost unreachable even in the depths of Thomas's dreams.

Jimmy's earnest response brought Thomas a strange sense of nostalgia and déjà vu, tied into memories of a purely fictitious version of the man in front of him.

'Right.' Thomas said again, feeling very unnerved as he turned to go back into the house.

Jimmy lingered in the yard for a while afterwards, despite knowing Carson would be after him, running his hand nervously through the ends of his hair, staring blankly at nothing in particular, feeling utterly blind-sided.


	59. Our Interest - Chapter 59

**Our Interest – Chapter 59**

Thomas knew Manchester.

No amount of summer seasons in London, or years spent isolated at the Downton Estate could quite expunge his 'feel' for the city. A portion of his formative years had seen him trotting to and fro down the overly narrow (or absent) pavements of the main streets, occasionally scuttling through even narrower alleyway cut-throughs, the city air gathering a faint crusting of black dust at the back of his throat; before he decided to take ease of breathing into his own hands and foray into the world of recreational smoking, of course.

He knew the place.

And even in the parts he _didn't _know, an intuitive understanding of the landmark buildings standing tall above the old terraces meant that he could always end up where he wanted to be. In some parts of the city he even recalled navigating his way through by the tilt of the ground alone.

But here he was, to all intents and purposes, lost.

_Perhaps…_

Thomas mused as he found himself standing in front of the municipal building for the third time, having yet again failed to locate the correct pub.

_…it's because I don't WANT to get where I'm going._

He had had plenty of time to think on his mission while on the laboriously slow local train into the city. And had found himself less and less convinced of his wisdom in embarking on it as the miles slipped by the puffing train, gradually turning from the rolling moors into hamlets and finally the blackened city scape. He found himself unsure of precisely what he was hoping to achieve.

Much as he would have liked to claim noble motives, and a part of him felt very twisted at the uncomfortable truth that nobility and kindness didn't really enter into it, the entire thing was ultimately an exercise in calling Jimmy's bluff.

Jimmy had been lying when he told him the reason he needed the money. That much Thomas was sure of.

He was also fairly certain that in his current frame of mind he would be indisposed to forgive Jimmy should that prove to be the case.

He had continuously expected Jimmy to approach him the day before and come clean, admit the story was a fabrication, and beg profusely for the forgiveness that Thomas (in his increasing ill-humor) had absolutely no intention of giving. But he would like to be asked for it just the same.

But Jimmy hadn't stopped him from striking out from Downton that morning en route to Manchester, and had even gone so far as to remind Thomas of the directions to The Bellows pub.

As Thomas turned away from the municipal hall for a fourth time to take a different street to the one he had tried on all three previous occasions he found himself, for the first time, genuinely entertaining the concept that Jimmy may have in fact been telling the truth as regards to his intention to bribe a previous 'work colleague' into keeping silent. The thought made him nervous.

Bolshie though he may be within his own world, Thomas was painfully aware that he didn't command such respect _outside_ the walls of Downton. He tightened his grip on the bundle of notes in his pocket as his mind began to conjure up all the ways in which this particular situation could go awry.

He supposed that the fact he had brought money at all showed a certain inner faith in Jimmy's words, which briefly picked up his mood. Although it instantly came down again as he fully immersed himself in the darkness of a small alleyway and began to ponder his chances of escape should a knife-wielding vagrant suddenly decide to make an appearance.

No stranger to the form and smells of back-alleyways in the city (having discovered their value in cutting down journey times to shops, e.t.c while young) Thomas was surprised at the level of dread that gripped him as he pushed onwards.

The thought of murderers and pick pockets paled in comparison to the offensive muck underfoot, the mossy growths on the damp bricks, the broken and shuttered windows, the steamy dawn mist that hung on despite the relatively late hour of the morning…all of these things he had experienced before.

But this time he was really seeing them; a morbid curiosity compelling him to view the place through the eyes of someone else. A split person. An imagined person who was both there to seek service and to render it. And each aspect took on a potential darkness far beyond any a casual passerby would note.

As the alley opened up into the neighboring street, he found himself immediately confronted with none other than The Bellows public house.

To say he was pleasantly surprised would have been a gross exaggeration; but his rising discomfort was slightly quelled by the welcome fact that neither the building nor clientele (at least not those sat on the rickety bench by the front entrance, pints in hand at eleven in the morning) stood out for better or for worse against the establishments of the rest of Manchester.

But there was still the _small_ matter of marching up to the bar and enquiring as to the whereabouts of a male prostitute to contend with.

Not to mention the equally disquieting task of somehow issuing an effective bribe given his complete lack of skill in the world of dodgy dealings; in particular as related to money.

He spent a moment seriously entertaining the notion of turning tail and retreating back to Downton to shove some money in Jimmy's hand and instruct him to do his own dirty work.

But guilt at his own motivations for being there at all, coupled with the contradictory certainty that his suspicions _were_ correct (and consequent desperation to fully sate his curiosity on that score), had him forcefully striding across the street.

The partially cut-glass paned front door swung open so easily that Thomas found himself tripping up the worn wooden step as he entered; destroying his hopes of an inconspicuous entrance.

Thomas refrained from cursing aloud in the hopes of persuading the dozen or so heads that swiveled in his direction to forget about his presence as rapidly as they had noted it. Pulling his hat a little lower over his forehead Thomas walked, as nonchalantly as he could manage, over to the short, grinning man who stood behind the bar, running a stained cloth around the rim of a pint glass.

He was painfully aware that the eyes of some of the customers lingered on him a little longer than others; his pride a little hurt by the fact that it seemed to be the two younger, more sprightly, of the six or so men who were trying to invite his attention, clearly mistaking him for a potential client rather than as one of their own, while the disheveled middle aged dossers (clearly a feature of all British public houses, 'ill repute' or not) ignored him entirely once he had recovered from his miss-step.

The position of the barman compelled Thomas to climb up onto the stool next to a man who was fairly middle of the road in terms of dress (from what Thomas could see, given that the majority of the man and his features were concealed by his hunched posture) but whom Thomas assigned to the 'dosser' category purely by virtue of the fact that he paid Thomas no mind whatsoever as he approached.

Thomas didn't want to turn around and check, but he had a feeling the two young men were still watching him.

His mind was busy grappling with the puzzle of whether it was their interest in him alone that alerted him to the fact they were 'out for business' or whether it was something in their manner of dress or deportment when he was startled out of his reverie.

'What'll you have?' Said the barman, empty pint glass clutched in his hand as one of his thin eyebrows made an amused arch up towards his bald head.

'Um…' Thomas paused, nervously licking at his lips, suddenly painfully aware of how quiet the place was. 'I…' He didn't much care for the look on the barman's face.

'It's alright lad. Take your time.' Said the barman dryly.

Thomas bristled at the insulting informality of being addressed like a child (his brain compounding the aggravation by reminding him of his earlier anger at having been considered 'over the hill' in terms of his potential as a prostitute).

'I'll…' Thomas began again.

The most obvious thing to do would be to order a drink. But Thomas was unwilling to commit money (and more importantly the time it would take to drink it) should it emerge that this 'Timothy Hall' was to be found elsewhere. There was also the issue of how to inconspicuously get the barman's attention, once he had a drink in hand, to query the whereabouts of Timothy.

Thomas glanced down at the man practically burrowing into the bar on his left. He had a small glass of some kind of spirit in his hand.

Thomas pondered for a moment; it would be more expensive, yes, but would have the advantage that he could simply knock it back if needs be (and, all things considered, a bit of Dutch courage might be just the ticket).

'I'll have what he's having.' Said Thomas gruffly, eager to establish his dominance as the customer over the annoyingly amused barman.

'Certainly, Sir.' Said the barman brightly without missing a beat, suddenly the epitome of respectful server.

The illusion was somewhat spoiled for Thomas by the poorly stifled giggle from the hunched man next to him.

'Here you are, Sir.' An identical glass, albeit with a considerably larger amount of the rust-colored liquid in it, appeared in front of Thomas. Thomas slid a few coins across the bar, not expecting to receive any change (which was good, because none was forthcoming) and took an experimental sip; it wasn't terrible, but it was strong.

He took another sip before noting, with annoyance, that the barman was making a point of hovering about directly in front of him. Polishing first one glass, then another, then the bar, then the glass again, then ducking down behind the bar to retrieve another.

There was nothing in that moment that Thomas wanted less than to speak to the (_presumptuous shit!_) barman.

'Actually…' Said Thomas quietly.

The barman's face instantly resurfaced.

Thomas swallowed. '…I'm looking for a Mr Timothy Hall.'

The barman snorted. 'You might want to consider breaking your friendship with whoever gave you _that_ recommendation.'

'Yeah…' The surprisingly raspy voice of the man to Thomas's left made him jump. '…that joke just gets funnier and funnier every time Stan.' He said, not bothering to raise up his head and shoulders, although his almost empty glass was briefly tilted up in a mock toast to the barman. 'Sorry love…' He continued, still without bothering to look around. '…I'm off duty.'

The barman snorted again. 'You might as well. I doubt this one would take too much out of you.'

Thomas's surprise at having unexpectedly identified Timothy was not nearly great enough to let an insinuation of that nature go by.

But as he opened his mouth to retort his voice suddenly fled his throat as Timothy finally raised himself up and turned to him.

'Pay him no mind.' Said Timothy, his words sounding distinctly like they had to struggle to get past some sort of obstruction in his throat. 'He's just fucking with you…' He lubricated his throat with the tiniest sip on his drink, evidently eager to savor every drop. 'I, on the other hand, was being serious. I'm not looking to…'

Thomas didn't hear any of it.

'Are you…are you brothers?' He whispered in shock; utterly dumbfounded by the sight of what Jimmy would most likely look like were he a decade or so older and too close to death for comfort.

The clothes may have been poor quality and the hair unkept, and the skin sheened in a thin layer of grime that gave his complexion a brassy over-tone despite the evident paleness of illness around his hairline and lips, but on first inspection Thomas would have had little trouble believing his senses were the man to suddenly leap from his chair and announce himself as 'Jimmy' in disguise. The similarity in his face was far too close for comfort.

'You what?' Said Timothy, shaking his head dismissively and shrugging at the barman's inquisitive stare. But from the look in his eyes Thomas had a feeling that Timothy knew precisely who he was talking about.

Thomas turned to glare at the barman.

It took less than a second for him to pick up his rag and relocate himself to the far end of the bar; ostensibly out of ear-shot.

'Are you?' Thomas whispered.

Timothy clicked his tongue and took another sip of drink. 'I don't know who you…'

'James Kent.' Hissed Thomas.

The extreme lack of reaction, save a slight eye-roll, confirmed Thomas's earlier suspicion.

'No.' Said Timothy, inclining his head towards Thomas with a droll and weary grin that betrayed the amount of times the question had been asked. 'We aren't related.'

The slight tinge of relief that Thomas felt at that (given the already highly complicated and confusing nature of the situation) was soon replaced by discomfort as Timothy continued 'Though I'm sure there's some that'd like to imagine so' before giving a very deep and unsettling laugh.

'What do you mean?' Said Thomas, trying to keep his voice authoritative despite the chilling effect of Timothy's humor.

Timothy regarded his face carefully for a moment. 'Nothing for you to concern yourself about.' He eventually said with a more friendly smile before turning back to his almost completely empty glass.

For the sake of his sanity, Thomas was inclined to agree with him.

'So…' Said Timothy with a slightly resigned sigh. 'If I _were_ to be in the game right now, what could I do for you?'

'No…I…' Thomas stuttered, furiously fighting back the blush edging its way up his cheeks. 'I just need to talk to you…about James.'

'Mmmmm…' Timothy murmured, his demeanor becoming instantly colder. He reached over to take Thomas's glass and emptied the entire contents down his own throat. '…Well stranger, I'll say again to you what I've said to the others…' He set the empty glass back down on the bar with a sharp movement. '…I don't know where he is. And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. So you should just move along.' He indicated vaguely over in the direction of the door, pushing the empty glass pointedly further away down the bar as he retrieved his own to drain the last sip.

There were far too many anomalies in Timothy's response for Thomas's mind to process at once, but one aspect stood out in particular. 'What others?' He said.

Timothy gave him a sympathetic glance. 'Think you're the only one that's been missing his services the past couple of years? Left a right trail of broken hearts did our Jim.'

Thomas grimaced and briefly directed his gaze to the floor. 'You misunderstand me…' He muttered. '…he sent me to talk to you.'

'Course he did.' Said Timothy, tapping his fingers on the wood of the bar.

'Your wife and child…daughter.' Thomas said quickly. 'He told me not many people know about them.'

The comforting oaky smells and quiet noises of the pub around him seemed to fade as Timothy stared silently, blankly, at him for a moment.

Then, with barely a sound, Timothy slid off his seat and started to walk away.

'Timothy…' Thomas quickly jumped up and grasped at his arm, happily noting that the resemblance to Jimmy seemed a little less precise when Timothy was standing given an extra half a foot or so of height. At the sound of chairs scraping over the floor as his hand connected with Timothy's arm, Thomas quickly released his hold. 'Please…' He whispered urgently. '...James really did send me. I have to talk to you…and there's money in it for you.'

Thomas could clearly see on Timothy's face that were it not for the mention of the word 'money' their conversation would have been well and truly at an end.

'How much?' Said Timothy, giving a small cough to dispel the flemmyness in his voice.

Thomas glanced over his shoulder, now painfully aware that the majority of the occupants of the room were watching them.

He leaned in as close as he dared. 'Can we please go somewhere private to discuss this? I can't very well give you money here, people will talk.' He whispered.

Even through his evident irritation, Timothy's eyes danced merrily at that. 'Yes…because you following me upstairs or out to the alleyway would be far less suspicious.' He drawled sarcastically.

Thomas wasn't sure his nerves could take much more.

He glanced over his shoulder again, cheeks aflame at the rapt audience.

He turned back to Timothy.

'Please, if we _can_ go somewhere else…lead the way.'

Timothy pondered for a moment, keeping Thomas squirming under his intense gaze.

'Very well…' Said Timothy, briefly glancing over Thomas's shoulder to give a small nod of reassurance to the barman. '…follow me.'


	60. Our Interest - Chapter 60

**Our Interest – Chapter 60**

**Triggery on a few accounts, so proceed with caution.**

Through the small door to the side of the bar and up the narrow staircase, Thomas followed.

Like the exterior of the building, the upstairs didn't stand out for better or for worse. It was composed of a long thin corridor, branching off in both directions from the stairs, that played host to numerous plain wooden doors. The plaster was peeling, and the edge of the ceiling was speckled with the grey-black rosettes of gathering damp, but the same was true of almost any edifice of a certain age in the city; especially those owned by people of less than affluent means (and even in the case of plentiful money the attic quarters were still prone to the same neglect).

Chuckling at Thomas's avid inspection of the corridor, Timothy strode off to the right, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets (or at least the remnants of them) as he went.

Save for the sound of someone dry-retching (in a suspiciously rhythmic manner) that created a ghostly echo from down the far end of the corridor, Thomas found little to alarm or offend him about the situation.

That rapidly changed upon his disheveled and enigmatic companion pushing open the door to a room in an even worse state than he was.

'Jesus!' Thomas exclaimed before he could stop himself, his nose reflexively wrinkling in disdain.

'Yes, well….' Drawled Timothy as he sat himself down on the side of the bed, motioning for Thomas to take the rickety wooden chair over by the table. 'This room's only for four things really…' He said as he proceeded to do two of them; producing a quarter of a bottle of gin from under his bed and a poorly rolled smoke from the small table beside Thomas. '…and the décor's got nothing to do with any of them.'

Thomas was inclined to differ. He suspected the badly kept room provided something of an impediment to Timothy's…liaisons.

The dust, the stains, the damp, the small goopy bundle (no doubt something edible once upon a time) festering in one of the corners put Thomas in a decidedly more nauseous than amorous state of mind.

As Timothy languished on the bed, his back against the wall, shoes up carelessly on the exposed mattress, Thomas fought the urge to actually gag at the state of the bunched bed sheets; they looked as though they could stand up well enough by themselves.

'I know what you're thinking.' Said Timothy, noting Thomas's eyes darting uncomfortably about the room. He struck a match on the wall and put flame to the end of the rolled cigarette. He sniffed back phlegm before inhaling deeply on the smoke, eyes briefly closing in a disturbingly euphoric expression. 'And it's deliberate. My own little form of protest, see?'

Thomas didn't 'see' but he had a feeling Timothy intended to enlighten him.

'They know what they're here for, and I know what they're here for, why put on airs? When I'm getting treated like dirt I like to return the favor. Like to make them squirm a bit.' Timothy grinned, leaning his head back against the wall as he savored another mouthful of smoke.

It sounded more like after-the-fact justification for a lack of motivation to clean, or in any way take pride in his surroundings to Thomas, but Thomas had a feeling that stating that particular viewpoint would get him nowhere.

He also had a feeling that whatever Timothy was so enthusiastically sucking on was not tobacco.

Glancing behind himself Thomas debated attempting to get the window open, but he didn't much fancy touching the layer of plaster dust and dead flies accumulated on it's ledge. In the end he settled for shunting his chair back a few feet.

It didn't help much.

Looking around awkwardly, despite fearing what other treasures besides the festering goop in the corner that the room might hold, Thomas gaze found accumulations of clothes and newspapers bundled about the other corners of the room, and personal grooming apparatus (which looked like it hadn't been touched in a while) intermingled with poor quality crockery and cutlery strewn about the table.

'Do you…' Thomas said perplexedly. 'Do you _live_ here?'

'When I'm not at my summer house in Mayfair…' Smiled Timothy, quick as a whip, rocking back and forth a little on the bed as his head filled with familiar comforting and warming cloudiness.

'But I thought…What about your wife and daughter?' Said Thomas.

Timothy laughed. 'Do I look like a bloke with a family to you?'

'No.' Thomas replied. Truthfully.

'Anyway…' Said Timothy, working open the gin bottle one handed while the roll-up smoldered happily in the other. 'What's this about Jim? And how does money come into it? Bear in mind…' He took a small swig of drink. '…that I've got no information about him that I'm inclined to give you.'

'I know him.' Said Thomas quietly. 'I'm not looking for…information.' He asserted; not strictly true in the larger sense, but at least he could genuinely claim it had nothing to do with his reason for being there. 'Do people often ask after him?' Thomas said, unable to stop himself.

'Mmmmm…' Timothy mumbled before noisily hawking back a lump of something in his throat. '…not so much anymore. But right after 'you-probably-know-who' shipped off to France there were a lot of gentlemen looking to offer him alternative employment…' Timothy shook his head dreamily. 'Poor sods. Back in the day, the more he made it clear he wouldn't love them, the more determined they were to get him.' Timothy laughed in barbed amusement.

Thomas snorted in spite of himself. 'Wouldn't or _couldn't_?' He said bitterly.

'So you do know him then.' Said Timothy dryly. 'I tell you…he's the sweetest, funniest…' Timothy leaned unsteadily to the side for a moment, overcome by the combined head rush of his current vices. He belched loudly before continuing. '…creature that I ever worked with…but he set no store by love.'

'What do you mean 'worked with'?' Said Thomas, wrinkling his nose at the sickly stench of Timothy's breath. 'I was given to believe yours was a fairly solo profession.'

'So you're not one of Anstruther's lot then!' Snorted Timothy. He recoiled abruptly upon realising what he'd said.

'Don't worry.' Said Thomas, hunting for his cigarettes and debating asking Timothy for a swig of the gin (the sight of Timothy's chapped, sore lips preventing him from actually doing so). 'I know all about Anstruther. That's why I'm here.'

Timothy's eyes flew open wide. 'Shit...Are you with the Police? Because I was only joking about Jim. He never had anything to do with…'

Thomas found himself more confused than ever.

'So you wouldn't tell on him?' Said Thomas.

Timothy stared back at him, wheezing in agitation as his chest rose and fell double-quick in rising panic. He stayed silent.

'I'm not with the Police.' Said Thomas gently. 'I swear I'm not…' He pretended not to notice the 'that's exactly what a sneaky policeman would say' eye-roll from Timothy. '…I'm here because Jimmy's been called in as witness against Anstruther.'

'Shit, shit, shit…' Muttered Timothy, lolling to one side again as he tugged in agitation on his hair, singing a few strands on the remnants of the butt he held between his fingers. 'I thought he'd be alright…He'd stopped…' Timothy righted himself and cracked his head back forcefully against the wall. Thomas winced. 'But of course…' Timothy continued. '…I suppose he was the only one on the permanent staff that stayed in England. The others must still be in France…Damn.'

'You seem…' Said Thomas gingerly. '…a bit upset by that?'

'Course I'm bloody upset!' Exclaimed Timothy, the mattress creaking as he leant forwards. 'He's a friend of mine! And if he's managed to stay out of the game, like I reckon he has, then the last thing I'd want for him is to get torn back down like the rest of us.'

Thomas frowned. Utterly lost.

'So…' He said slowly. '…if Jimmy were to give evidence denying that Anstruther did…' Thomas coughed nervously. '…anything indecent…' Thomas rolled his eyes at his own compulsion towards delicacy given that he was sitting in a filthy prostitute's bedroom, but really the delicacy was for the sake of his own nerves rather than Timothy's. '…would you tell people he was lying?'

'Why would I do that?' Said Timothy instantly as he shunted forwards on the bed to crush the last of his smoke into the floorboards below. The question was painfully genuine.

'For money?' Mumbled Thomas, reluctant to do Timothy the disservice even on so short an acquaintance (though why he wasn't quite sure), but needing to be absolutely clear.

'There's some things money can't buy.' Timothy stayed at the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor. 'Not many…and, I won't lie, they're getting less and less. But I wouldn't do that. He's a good lad.'

_Then WHY…_

A voice in Thomas's head loudly demanded.

_…am I sitting here in this FILTHY room with a bunch of notes in my pocket with YOUR name on?_

Shaking his head in confused exasperation, Thomas decided it was finally time to spark up his cigarette. It took him a few tries.

'Well, see here Mr Hall.' Thomas began ill-humouredly. 'The thing is that I've been sent here to…'

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the glassy eye of a small teddy bear peering at him from the top of one of the clothing piles littering the floor, largely obscured by a bundled up shirt, but with the faded bow around it's neck still visible.

It quite put him off his train of thought.

'What happened to them?' He said.

'To who?' Said Timothy, caught off guard.

'Your wife and daughter.'

Timothy inhaled sharply. He leaned forwards towards Thomas. 'None of your fucking business.' He hissed. Still glowering at Thomas he dragged himself backwards onto the bed to rest against the wall again. He took a very generous swallow of gin. 'And apparently it's none of mine neither.' He added quietly.

'Since when?' Said Thomas tentatively.

The tip of Timothy's tongue briefly made an appearance between his lips as he bit it before replying. 'Almost a year.' He said defeatedly, the anger and defensiveness of a moment ago all but gone. He closed his eyes and turned his face to the ceiling, exposing the lines that rivulets of sweat had made through the grime of his neck.

'What happened?' Said Thomas.

Timothy sighed. 'I suppose I hadn't reckoned on how much harder it would be to hide the evidence.'

'Evidence?'

'Well…I might come back from Anstruther's smelling of smoke and…other things…but that's what a bloke's supposed to do at night, ain't it? The problem came when Anstruther left.' He took a sip of gin. 'Everyone was so paranoid about what had happened to him, about him having to flee the bloody _country_ to avoid prison…there wasn't much work to be found in the world I was used to.' He sighed again and gave a small laugh. 'So I thought I'd try this one.' He added, indicating the room around him with a sweep of his arm. 'And now it's all there is…all there fucking well is.'

'How are you doing...work wise?' Said Thomas with a grimace, unable to avoid giving Timothy's pitiful (but still disturbingly akin to Jimmy's) form another once-over.

'Me? Oh, I get enough work.' Said Timothy with a bitter and hollow smile. 'I have my own special draw.'

'What's that then?' Said Thomas, offering Timothy one of his regular cigarettes as he went to light up a second one, highly suspecting he didn't want to know the answer.

'I used to be more of a topper.' Said Timothy, vigorously inhaling on the cigarette to extract as much flavor as possible. He glanced pointedly at Thomas, who had to think for a few moments before nodding his understanding. 'But that sort of arrangement's rarer on the streets…and we _so_ wanted to move out from her mother's house…' He trailed off with a grimace. 'So I tried the other.' He flicked ash onto the bedroom floor. 'But it wasn't well done, you see. So now, for me, unlike the others, every time is just like the first time…And there's many that appreciate that illusion...repeatedly.'

Thomas became a little paler at that.

Taking a drag on his cigarette for a much needed distraction from the toe-curling explanation, Thomas found himself dearly wishing that he had insisted on he and Jimmy making this trip _together_ instead of his own pigheaded solution.

Not that he relished the idea of Jimmy having to physically see Timothy in such a state (although he was now almost certain that Jimmy had an inkling that Timothy had fallen on hard times) but he would have liked to ask him what he wanted to do.

Trail or no trial, Thomas would have happily given money (more preferably, hope) to quite such a pathetic and pitiful creature if he thought it would do any good. But he wasn't convinced it would do anything to help. Arguably the best case scenario saw Timothy passing on whatever Thomas gave to his estranged wife (assuming he still knew where to find her) and continuing to flagellate himself in the cause of personal booze money, the worst case scenario saw him choking alone on his own vomit surrounded by empty bottles and opiate paraphernalia.

Of one thing Thomas was certain; The preferable scenario, involving cleanliness, respectable work and a sense of boundaries and self-worth, was not to be achieved by money alone.

But at present it was all that he had to give.

'Jim works with me.' Thomas said softly, unconsciously slipping into Timothy's preferred nickname for Jimmy. 'He's a Footman in a grand house…But I suppose you'll hear all about that at the trial.'

Timothy gave a small nod. 'Glad he's been doing alright.'

'I think he wishes…' Said Thomas. '…for you to be alright too.' Thomas fingered the notes in his pocket before drawing them out. 'So he asked me to give you this, in the hopes that it might help.'

Timothy barely reacted at all, strange given the amount offered, but the quiet 'Thank you' he offered upon accepting the money from Thomas's hand conveyed all that was best in human emotion.

An awkward silence followed.

'So…um…I think I'd best be going.' Said Thomas, getting up slowly from the unstable wooden chair.

'I'll walk you out.' Said Timothy quietly, tucking the money away under the bed sheets.

'No…it's fine.' Said Thomas, wishing in his feeling of numb disorientation to be alone as soon as possible.

'Alright.' Said Timothy, rising to his feet. 'Let me get the door for you.'

'Wait…' Said Thomas, biting his lip. Timothy obliged.

The idea of what he wanted to do didn't thrill Thomas, in particular in terms of risking his pristine clothes or the potential for lice, but he also knew he would never forgive himself if he didn't.

He stepped forwards and wrapped one arm round Timothy's shoulder and another round his waist, pulling him into a stiff but warm hug.

Timothy barely reacted, save to briefly lower his chin onto Thomas's shoulder.

But Thomas was glad he did it all the same.

He made a quick exit.

Stumbling rather than walking down the corridor, noting that the noise he had heard earlier had ceased, Thomas somehow made it safely down the stairs and back into the bar.

Too dazed to attempt anything resembling finesse in his manner of exit, Thomas pushed his way past various obstructing tables, chairs and people to emerge into the street.

Increasing his pace to a light jog, Thomas quickly cocooned himself in the dark narrowness of the alleyway across the street. Leaning against the wall with shaking shoulders he let his face crumple; the events of that day having compounded the strain his mind was already under to the point of collapse. He wasn't sad or angry, he was just exhausted.

And somehow felt he now had even _less _of a handle on what was going on than before.


	61. Our Interest - Chapter 61

**Our Interest - Chapter 61**

'Mr Carson…?' Said Mrs Hughes as she peered quizzically through the partially open back door. 'Good heavens, what are you doing out here?'

'Mrs Hughes.' Carson gave a slight bow of acknowledgement, bristling slightly at being discovered in so indignified a location. 'If you must know, I am awaiting the wine delivery.'

'But surely Mr Barrow ought to be doing that?' She said, stepping gingerly out into the yard despite a lack of outside shoes or coat. 'And where is Mr Barrow? I need either he or you upstairs and I cannot find him anywhere.'

'He left for Manchester a short while ago on personal business…I said he could go!' Carson quickly added as Mrs Hughes's head tilted back in surprise and disapproval.

'But he's only just come back from a…personal visit!' Said Mrs Hughes shrilly. 'Have you let James go again as well?'

'I most certainly have not!' Carson exclaimed, abandoning his avid perusal of the gates to return Mrs Hughes challenging gaze with equal fervor. 'Although…' He admitted, taking a tiny step back. '…he did state that the 'personal business' he needed to conduct was on James's behalf.'

Mrs Hughes went to retort, but decided that casting her eyes heavenwards and giving a highly exaggerated sigh (coupled with a reproachful look) would convey her current emotions far better than angry words.

'It's to do with the trial. I don't know in what way.' Mr Carson added, requiring no further prompting. 'Mr Barrow was most adamant he be allowed to go.'

Mrs Hughes shook her head slowly, the slight chill in the shadows of the yard doing nothing to improve her mood or understanding. 'So Mr Barrow goes off to do James's dirty work and we are all left in the lurch.' She said with a sniff, staring down at the paving stones as though they had personally offended her. 'Did you notice that James missed breakfast again this morning? And when he _did_ come downstairs he looked like he'd been pulled through a hedge backwards!'

'I have of course noticed that James continues to present himself poorly.' Said Carson gruffly, not relishing the insinuation in Mrs Hughes's words that he should have already spoken to him. 'I will have another talk with him.' He said, returning his gaze to the gate that the delivery (long expected all the way from France) should soon be arriving through. 'What was it you needed Mr Barrow for?' Said Carson, eager to turn Mrs Hughes away from the issue of James, knowing how little patience she seemed to have for him those days.

'His Lordship asked for him.' She said with another sigh. 'You'll have to go instead.'

'But I must…' Carson indicated towards the gate. He pursed his lips, caught between a rock and a hard place. 'How urgently did His Lordship asked to be attended?'

'I'm afraid he didn't draw me out a timeline of acceptable waiting periods.' Said Mrs Hughes dryly. 'But if he's asked to speak to an Under Butler one can only assume it's a fairly pressing problem...'

'Right…' Said Carson slowly, feeling somewhat blindsided by Mrs Hughes quick wit and ill temper. He turned to re-enter the house, pausing at the last minute to indicate that Mrs Hughes, as a lady, should of course enter first. 'Will you speak to the Hall Boys? Ask Brett to look out for the delivery and to come and get me as it arrives?' He said, stepping over the threshold back into the house.

'I'll do that.' Said Mrs Hughes with a nod.

Carson barely lingered a moment longer before gliding speedily down the corridor at a strange half-running half-walking gait.

Mrs Hughes stared after him, shaking her head again.

As she made her way towards the kitchen she was accosted by Anna with some urgent questions regarding clothes on order for Lady Mary, and consequently relayed Carson's message to Gill, who happened to be passing by the servant's hall at the time.

Eager to be on her way, with two upstairs bedrooms to thoroughly turn over before the afternoon, Gill relayed the message to Ivy who was on her way out of the servant's hall with a set of crockery in need of washing.

'Gill says that Mrs Patmore says that you two are to take care of the delivery.' She called across the kitchen to Brett, who was currently shoulder deep inside the belly of the stove cleaning, not needing to clarify who else she was referring to; he and Lee really did come as a pair in most regards.

'But we've done it!' Brett called, his head still within the oven. 'Put it all away this morning.' He said, his voice echoing a little in the enclosed space, mistaking the 'delivery' in question to relate to the groceries which arrived several hours earlier.

'Well that's alright then, isn't it.' Said Ivy, stepping over his legs to get to the sink.

Needless to say, Carson was not impressed when he was finally released from Lord Grantham's musings regarding a potential re-organisation of his library to find that the wine order had not been received and that no one was sure whether or not the vendors had actually tried to delivery it.

Attempting to trace it's whereabouts with a call to the local couriers and post room put him decidedly on edge.

Consequently, lunch in the servant's hall that day was a highly awkward affair as Mr Carson made his irritation at the situation loudly clear to all assembled.

Mrs Hughes was blamed for having drawn him away in the first place (albeit scolded in a far less direct way than the others, but left seething irregardless), Gill and Ivy for poorly relaying the message (Ivy very nearly reduced to tears), the Hall Boys for not taking the time to properly investigate their orders (their attempts to protest that it was the fault of the messengers and not them earned them a far more vicious talking to than the others) and everyone else around the table was included as well for somehow failing to notice a continental gentleman lingering around the backdoor with four crates of wine.

Irregardless of the chain of events that had led to the oversight, all those assembled were certain of two truths. Firstly that it wouldn't have happened if Mr Barrow had been present and secondly that it was all James's fault.

Jimmy didn't participate in the discussions over lunch much, his thoughts elsewhere.

Uncertainty over whether or not he had been correct in allowing Thomas to go to Manchester in his stead had Jimmy stomping through the day in a dreamlike daze.

Not knowing how the meeting between Thomas and Tim was going, or even if Thomas had been able to locate him at all, completely occupied his thoughts. More than once he considered if it would have perhaps been better to refuse to tell Thomas how to find him, to insist on being allowed to go himself.

But then he was reminded that both money and good will (i.e. the potential for extra time off) were in short supply as far as he was concerned at present, and that sending Thomas (with a somewhat doctored excuse as to why the visit was necessary) really was the only way to even open up the _possibility_ that the thing might get done.

He was desperate for Thomas's return, but simultaneously dreading it.

As he wove his way around the furniture of the drawing room collecting glasses and cups, Jimmy began to plan what he would say; working his way through the multitudes of possibilities regarding what mood Thomas might be in upon his return and pondering through, then silently mouthing, the correct means to pacify him.

So engrossed was he in the task that he failed to notice the arrival of Brett and Lee, each of them holding the handle of a woven basket containing wood for the fireplace. But their presence didn't go unnoticed for long.

'Oi!' Brett prodded Jimmy sharply between the shoulder blades as he and Lee lumbered past him on their way to the fire.

Jimmy leaned wearily against the table, having briefly set the tray down to add some half-finished coffee cups to the suspiciously high number of empty or semi-empty alcoholic drink glasses he had found about the room.

Extracting himself from the room wasn't really an option, there were still two more tables of cups to go, so he allowed himself a moment's rest as he waited for Brett to get whatever it was out of his system.

'You going to apologise to us for that bollocking we got today?' Said Brett, rising to walk back towards Jimmy while Lee busied himself building up the fire ready for the late afternoon.

'It's not my fault if you can't follow orders.' Mumbled Jimmy, unable to summon up anything resembling energy and simply remaining where he was, propping up the table. He winced at his own comment, dearly wishing he had come up with a more neutral response as Brett's nostrils flared wildly.

'Don't you dare talk to me like that!' He growled. 'I've a good mind to right-hook you!'

Various come-backs ranging from 'Let's have it then' to 'You wouldn't, you're too afraid of Carson' ran through Jimmy's head, but he decided in the cause of self-preservation that to remain silent would be the most prudent response.

'I'll not be spoken to like that by someone like you!'

'What…?' Jimmy bit back, utterly certain he would live to regret it, but quite unable to let Brett's self-righteous indignation go by unchallenged. 'Someone your superior in both age and rank?'

Instead of responding with the expected string of obscenities, Brett calmly circumnavigated the sofa to stand next to the table. Jimmy didn't react or retreat, secure in the knowledge that if Brett _were_ to punch him it would solve more problems than it would cause.

Too late he realised Brett's true purpose for approaching the table.

The various cups and glasses, not to mention the tray itself, made surprisingly little noise as they were swept off the table; the thick cream carpet and Indian rug peeking out from under the sofa absorbed the majority of the impact…and the liquid. All five or so different varieties and colours of it.

'For fucks sake…' Whispered Jimmy, more to himself than to Brett. Having noticed what was happening far too late to stop it, Jimmy continued to lean against the table, shaking his head in exasperation. His fatigue doing a good job of preventing him from truly processing the enormity of the situation as Brett returned to the fireplace to help Lee pick up the basket. But even the most tentative of thoughts regarding what this particular event was likely to cost him made his head throb.

'Oh buck up, Mr Kent.' Drawled Brett. 'How about we leave you with one of these…' He grasped a largely cylindrical, but nevertheless jagged, log out from the basket and tossed it onto the rug in front of the fire. '…to help you cheer yourself up a bit.' Sharing a snigger with Lee he helped hoist the basket off the floor and headed for the door. 'I'm sure you can think of all kinds of things to do with that!' He laughed before following Lee out into the corridor.

Jimmy gave a shaky exhale, gripping the side of the table for support before the sight of the rapidly spreading stain on the carpet brought him back to more pressing matters.

Taking a moment to stalk across to the fireplace and throw the remnant log into it, Jimmy quickly dropped down onto the floor beside the mess of tea, brandy and God knows what else.

Having nothing on him except a handkerchief, and being possessed by a temporary panic that saw him overlooking the fact that there was really very little he could do about the stain without some kind of cleaning product, he grabbed the small towel that had been lodged under the tray and began to attempt to frantically soak up some of the liquid.

Mrs Hughes was somewhat surprised to find Jimmy on all fours in the parlor when she came in several minutes later, but any indignation at Jimmy's posture was soon expunged by the muddled mess he was attempting to clear away.

'James!' She exclaimed angrily, reading the situation in the empty cups and glasses that Jimmy had gathered back onto the tray that sat next to him on the carpet. 'What do you think you're doing?'

'I just…' Jimmy sat back on his heels, flustered and defeated, the stained towel resting against his trousers. '…I'm trying to clear this up.' He said dejectedly.

'Making it worse is what you are doing.' Reproached Mrs Hughes, her eyes protruding a little further than usual from their sockets as she surveyed the damage. 'Did you think you could hide this? Did you think no one would notice your error?' She demanded.

'No Mrs Hughes.' Said Jimmy softly. 'I was just trying to make it better.'

'Well them that know what they're doing attend to it!' She said. 'You go directly to find Gill and have her and Kitty in here with the cleaning powder.'

'Yes Mrs Hughes.' Said Jimmy, not bothering (or possibly unable) to summon the energy to get up off of his knees at that moment.

'Mr Carson and I will be having a serious talk about this, James. You mark my words. The cost of putting something like this to rights, in addition to the very noticeable deterioration in your attitude and work ethic this past week…Well…' She paused for a moment, unable to be happy in her next words no matter how deep her disapproval of James. '…be aware that your future in this household is not assured.'

She swept away, leaving Jimmy to sit for a moment longer on his heels, his eyes closed and his cheeks hot, before rising shakily.

A creeping numbness had his vision a little blurry and his feet unsteady, so he left the tray where it was on the floor.

He made his way back downstairs, head heavy and thick with more than a hint of fever as he made the slow climb down the stairs.

He found himself immediately confronted with the member of staff he had the least desire to see at that moment.

'Jimmy…' Thomas began, taking a few steps towards him as he swung his coat off his shoulders, looking thunderous. '…I think you and I need to have a…'

Jimmy retreated back.

It was too much.

'Not right now.' He said, his face feeling like a furnace as his lungs began to feel painful in their efforts to breath. 'Not bloody now.' He said as he turned and retreated up the stairs, not stopping, breathing troubles or no, until he reached the sanctity of his room. He slammed the door behind him with gusto and collapsed down behind it, knees hugged to his chest.

It fell to a highly disgruntled, and more than a little disoriented and traumatised himself, Thomas to inform Mr Carson that Jimmy was indisposed for the evening's tasks and that he would take over the serving duties.

Which was fine (quick costume change aside), especially in terms of keeping his mind off the events of earlier that day.

Well…it _was_ fine until he and Carson entered the drawing room to prepare for the pre-dinner drinks and found a large caked-in stain on the fluffy carpet and virtually priceless exotic rug, and a highly incriminating tray left on the floor beside it.

It certainly provided a talking point during the pre-dinner drinks; the Dowager having entered to find Carson and Thomas midway through moving a sofa in an attempt to hide it.

Thomas pushed open Jimmy's bedroom door later that night, finally released from both his duties and Jimmy's, with a feeling of inevitable, yet somehow _needed_, impending doom.

Jimmy looked up slowly, having relocated to the bed within the previous few hours but still fixed in the same position, arms wrapped around his legs which were brought up to press against his chest.

'What the hell do you think you're… ?' _Playing at_, was what Thomas was going to say, but he was distracted by the state of Jimmy's room. It looked precisely how his own had looked upon turfing out all of his belongings looking for Lord Grantham's missing snuff box almost a decade previous. He was also uncomfortably reminded of the messy room he had been obliged to linger in at the Inn in Manchester, although at least noting seemed to be actually festering in Jimmy's room.

'You realise you're supposed to keep this room tidy?' Said Thomas bluntly. 'It doesn't belong to you.'

'Did you find him?' Jimmy eventually croaked out in a small voice, aware (as was Thomas) that there were far bigger issues afoot than socks lying about on the floor.

Thomas blinked. 'What do you mean 'Did I find him?'.' He said ill humouredly. 'You're the one who gave me directions to The Bellows, remember?'

'Yes, but where was he? Could the barman direct you his address?' Said Jimmy, rocking a little on the bed in agitation.

'Didn't need to. He lives _there_.' Said Thomas, looking quizzically at Jimmy's reaction.

Jimmy stopped rocking, his head briefly disappeared beneath his knees.

'Damn.' He whispered.

Thomas held a hand up to press against his forehead, scratching at his temple, as he sighed in exasperation. 'So how about you give me the truth about why you wanted me to go and offer him money?'

Jimmy glanced up, registering the haunted look in Thomas's eyes. 'Did you give him any?'

'That doesn't answer my question Jimmy.' Said Thomas dully.

'Did you give him money?' Jimmy repeated, biting at his lower lip.

Thomas threw his hands up in the air and contemplated smacking on of them into the wall.

'Yes, Jimmy, I did. And I think he's going to use it to kill himself.' Thomas retorted, finding himself eager to wound Jimmy as much as the wall.

'That bad?' Said Jimmy quietly.

'Worse.' Said Thomas simply. 'Why didn't you tell me the real reason you wanted to give him money?'

Jimmy remained silent, chewing on his lip.

'Why didn't you tell me?' Hissed Thomas, his skin still crawling at the recollection of Timothy's miserable state and squalid living conditions.

'I wasn't really sure myself…' Said Jimmy slowly, reluctantly, grimacing with each word. 'But when I saw his name on the list of…prostitutes' Jimmy shuddered a little. '…called in to testify against Lord Anstruther, I knew something had to be wrong. He was supposed to leave the business, that's what he meant to do. He was just going to work at the shop and look after his family...'

'Sounds like they kicked him out.' Thomas bluntly interjected, stopping Jimmy mid flow. 'And you still haven't answered my question. Why did you lie to me about why you wanted to give him money?'

Jimmy finally released his lip from between his teeth, a little fire appearing behind his eyes.

'Can you blame me?' He said, glaring at Thomas. 'It seemed like you'd react better to the idea of having to bribe someone rather than me wanting to help a friend given how you reacted when I told you I wanted to help Anstruther?'

'This is completely bloody different!' Exclaimed Thomas, before remembering to keep his voice in check. He hunched forwards at the shoulders and glanced briefly back at the open door, but found no one in the corridor outside. 'That poor sod isn't some Lord that used you as a bit on the side in exchange for a job!'

'It wasn't like that!' Jimmy asserted, springing forwards onto his knees in agitation. 'My work for the Dowager was something separate. I could have stopped the extra work for Lord Anstruther whenever I wanted.'

Thomas stared at him. 'Then why the fuck didn't you?'

'What?' Said Jimmy, thrown by Thomas's question.

'Why didn't you stop it?'

'I don't understand what you…?'

'If you had your job as Footman, without _having_ to sleep with him…' Thomas stated vigorously, head tilted to one side as he attempted to puzzle the matter out for himself. '…then why did you keep doing it? For that matter…' Thomas quickly continued, an awkward additional piece of knowledge pushing itself to the front of his mind. '…why the actual FUCK did you sleep with Crowborough for a reference when you already had a position here at one of the greatest houses in the county?'

'I've answered that already…' Jimmy began.

'Remind me.' Said Thomas bluntly.

'What if I had to leave…or I wanted a promotion…and I needed a reference to say I'd got more experience than I actually…'

'That is such horseshit.' Thomas muttered.

'You believed me before!' Said Jimmy angrily.

'Alright.' Said Thomas, raking both hands through his hair to give them something to do aside from fantasise about punching the wall. 'Say that is true…How do you explain Anstruther?'

Jimmy shook his head dismissively and stared down at the bed sheets.

'Don't you even bloody THINK about dodging the question, Jimmy!' Thomas barked at him. 'I have precisely SOD ALL patience for you right now. Because of you, today I saw more than I EVER wanted to know about the most disturbing and DISGUSTING side of the human condition and you WILL do me the courtesy of responding to my perfectly reasonable question.'

'Every time you learn more you shout at me!' Jimmy barked back. 'And yet you're surprised when I don't want to share? Why can't you just please please leave this until after the trial and I will try to explain.'

Thomas spun about on his heel to dissipate some of the pent up energy in his body before responding levelly. 'Jimmy you know the full story. I don't. You have no idea how terrifying and frustrating that is. I'm starting to think that I know _nothing _about what's going on inside your head.' He brought a hand down to vigorously cut the air in front of him for emphasis. 'Whatever it is, you need to work out a way to put it into words I can understand. And you need to do it now.'

'Or what?' Said Jimmy flatly.

'Oh _fuck_ you…I'm done.'

Thomas took a few steps back towards the doorway.

'What?' Said Jimmy, leaning forwards on the bed, following Thomas's progress towards the door with panicked eyes. 'What do you mean?'

'Whatever this was…' Thomas indicated between the two of them with a sweep of his hand. '…it's clearly doing nothing for either of us. And I want nothing more to do with it.'

'Thomas…?' Said Jimmy in disbelief as Thomas made his way over to the door.

When it became apparent that Thomas didn't intend to turn around, Jimmy resorted to the lowest blow he could muster from his considerable arsenal.

'So after all that nonsense about real feelings and love…' He called after Thomas. '…I refuse to sleep with you once and that's it? Goodness, if I'd know it was all you cared about I would've laid back and thought of England...'

It had the desired effect. Thomas immediately turned back around to face him.

'Christ Jimmy, was that ever NOT the point!' Shouted Thomas, abandoning any care for their location. 'Although, yes…' He said scathingly. '…now that you mention it. But only because it tells me there's something SERIOUSLY wrong. You not being 'up for it' in some form or another is practically apocalyptic in implication given past precedent…'

Jimmy looked to the bedside table for something to throw, preferably of the heavy or breakable variety, but found nothing more threatening than a hairbrush and dog-eared paperback.

It was probably just as well he didn't find anything given that Carson appeared in the doorway only seconds later.

'I thought I heard raised voices and…' Carson stopped abruptly upon taking in the condition of Jimmy's room. 'You will put this room to rights THIS INSTANT!' He said gruffly. 'And get your shoes off the bed. Have you lost all sense of propriety!?'

Jimmy swung his legs sideways to get his shoes off of the bed covers, leaving a trail of poorly buffed away shoe-polish on the white sheets.

Thomas left without a word, pausing briefly to give a small nod to Carson as he passed.

Jimmy prayed like he had never done so before for Carson to follow Thomas's lead (and for Thomas to come back).

'This is unacceptable James.' Said Carson. 'Your behavior today has just been…' He inhaled sharply, consulting his watch. 'We will speak on today's events in my office tomorrow morning, understood?'

'Yes Mr Carson.' Said Jimmy, putting every remaining energy reserve into not sounding unacceptably weary.

Mercifully, Carson left, closing the door behind him.

Jimmy immediately kicked off his shoes and swung his legs back onto the bed.

Turning out the light was unthinkable, cleaning the room was impossible, even getting out of his shirt was an unacceptable level of activity (despite Jimmy's suspicion that he did not have another spare fresh one for the morning after).

He fell back against the pillow and screwed his eyes tight shut.


	62. Our Interest - Chapter 62

**Our Interest – Chapter 62**

Jimmy had been anticipating his morning appointment with Carson with such distaste that he was almost relieved upon finding the more odious of the two Police Inspectors, Inspector Locke, waiting for him at the entrance to the servant's hall as he made his way down (only marginally late) to breakfast.

'Hope you're feeling more awake than you look…' Said Locke, cocking an amused eyebrow. He raised his right hand to give the folder he clutched a little shake, rustling the pages of paper within. '…because we've got a lot to get through.'

Locke indicated down the corridor with a swing of the folder, motioning for Jimmy to lead him, as before, to Carson's office. Much to Carson's consternation the two of them vanished from view without asking his permission to do so.

After a highly tense breakfast during which Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes and Thomas exchanged numerous painful (to all, but for different reasons) glances, Carson was highly perturbed to find himself still shut out of his own office. With pursed lips and an agitatedly twitching head he made his way back down the hall, catching Thomas on his way out.

'Mr Barrow!' He called, halting Thomas in his progress towards the kitchen. 'I think the two of us need to have a talk…about James.'

Thomas grimaced, his head still thick and heavy with the frustration and disappointment of the previous night. Having no opportunity to escape from the claustrophobia of the house, Thomas had at least hoped, for the sake of his sanity, to make it through the day in stubborn denial regarding Jimmy's existence. 'Mr Carson, I'm really not feeling…'

'I'd say it's more than high time for such talk!' Exclaimed Mrs Hughes, walking briskly to catch the two of them up, shooting Mr Carson a sideways glance that was full of warning against his even _considering_ the possibility of excluding her from the aforementioned discussion.

Carson gave a sharp nod to acknowledge her right to be included, although not entirely convinced her presence would in any speed up a resolution to the problem of their increasingly lackluster and unforgivably clumsy Second Footman. But at least the prospect of disrespecting _both_ himself and Mrs Hughes had Thomas falling silent in his efforts to escape.

'Now…' began Carson, hating the indignity of being forced to conduct a meeting in the corridor instead of the sanctity of his own office, but unwilling to turn over to control to Mrs Hughes to enable the meeting to be held in hers. '…naturally His Lordship has expressed a desire for an explanation as to what happened to the carpet and the Indian rug in the Drawing Room…'

'And you shall tell him!' Interjected Mrs Hughes firmly.

'I will.' Carson agreed without hesitation. 'But I am a little unclear as to why the matter wasn't taken in hand when the mistake was first discovered…'

'I was under the impression it was!' Said Mrs Hughes. 'I made myself quite clear that he was to tell the maids to attend to it!'

'But then…' Thomas reluctantly piped up as Mr Carson held his hands up to pacify Mrs Hughes as to the fact that he was questioning Jimmy's failure to follow her orders, rather than the whether or not she had actually given them in the first place. '…he was taken ill, so he must have forgot…Because he was ill.' Thomas reiterated, staring dispassionately down at the floor.

'He certainly hasn't been at full strength for a while.' Mrs Hughes conceded with a sad shake of her head.

Carson nodded in agreement. 'Mr Barrow, that is the reason I wanted to talk to you before attending Lord Grantham regarding the matter. Given your…' Carson swallowed uncomfortably. '…relative closeness to James, I wondered if you might perhaps be…party to…information…which His Lordship might benefit from in coming to a decision about the best way to proceed?'

Thomas was initially torn somewhere between simply shaking his head (which in more ways than one would truly represent him washing his hands of the situation) or holding Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes hostage while he listed each and every confusing and disturbing incident of the past few months (which also carried an air of finality in the level of intimate detail he would be obligated to divulge, and consequent need for at least one of them to flee the house in abject embarrassment).

The alternative solution, advising Mr Carson to ask Jimmy directly, was tempting in terms of the blackly humorous scene it would likely lead to. But Thomas couldn't in good conscience suggest it; being utterly certain of failure.

Internally, Thomas gave a hysterical laugh as the excuse repeatedly trotted out in his recent (highly unsatisfactory) talks with Jimmy came to mind.

'It's the trial you see.' He said easily, but with all the awkwardness in his expression and tone required to convince them it was a confidence he was only grudgingly sharing. 'It's all he can think on at the moment and it's got him terribly worried…'

'So that's the crux of the matter is it?' Said Lord Grantham a short while later, swiveling in his desk chair to regard Carson's expression.

'According to Mr Barrow, yes.' Said Carson, standing perfectly to attention in the middle of the library, fighting to keep his facial expression neutral. 'But I have yet to properly question James…' Carson gave an irritated sniff. '…given that he remains resident in _my_ office at present, in the company of a Police Inspector.'

'Yes…I've never heard of a case where a witness has had to conduct intensive pre-trial preparation in such a manner before.' Robert reached for the cup of tea that sat merrily steaming on the desk. 'I can well believe that anxiety on account of the impending event if currently driving him to distraction.'

'Am I to take it that you do _not_ wish to take the matter further at this stage…?' Said Carson in that special voice that carried equally high quantities of disapproval and disbelief, while still remaining just the right side of respectful.

'Am I to take it that you have some objection?' Said Robert, sipping his tea to mask the affectionately amused twitch of his mouth that Carson's righteous indignation sometimes invoked.

Carson considered carefully before answering.

'In principle, no.' He said slowly. 'Your Lordship has been right to show clemency in the past to those going through difficult circumstances, and in the long term one cannot deny that the household has benefited.'

'But…?' Robert prompted a little dryly.

'But to cause SUCH damage!' Carson exclaimed. 'And for yourself and your guests to have to witness such reckless…'

'The boy spilt something on a carpet that should have been changed ten years ago and the rug that has been in place for even longer covering up far more heinous stains that have accrued over the years…' Said Robert dryly. 'And the day my _family_…' He emphasized, to subtly reproach Carson for the use of the word guests to describe the Dowager and Mrs Crawley. '…cannot find amusement in the image of yourself and Mr Barrow attempting to surreptitiously move furniture…well that would be a sad day indeed.'

'I do not argue with anything your Lordship says.' Said Carson. 'But what is it had been a _new_ carpet? A Second Footman, or Butler for that matter, couldn't hope to be able to financially compensate for such damage for years.'

'Mr Carson, as far as I am concerned the matter need go no further at this stage…' Robert nodded back as Carson bowed in acquiescence. '…and I believe James can be given some leeway over the next four days until this business of the trial is over.'

'Very good, My Lord.' Said Carson with another bow before he turned to leave.

'Although…' Robert called to him. '…you might remind James of the promise he made that his involvement in the trial would not impact on his role in the smooth running of this household…'

Downstairs, Inspector Locke was long gone by the time Jimmy emerged from Carson's office, Jimmy having been left with something akin to an entire encyclopedias worth of pages to gather up and organise for his own personal reference.

As he made his way down the corridor, Jimmy's heart sank at the sight of Thomas. His head still swimming, and his stomach still churning, from Locke's disturbing enthusiasm for his remit, Jimmy wasn't sure his nerves would stand up to being interrogated by Thomas so soon after.

But then, as Thomas swept past him without so much as a word or even a glance of acknowledgement, Jimmy remembered.

And briefly debated offering information regarding his meeting with Locke.

Jimmy stood in the corridor feeling very silly and very alone as Daisy eagerly greeted Thomas (and the stock-list he was holding) at the kitchen door.

'Don't you have somewhere to be?' Said Mrs Hughes from behind him with an exasperated sigh.

'I don't know.' Said Jimmy honestly, turning to face her. 'This morning I just…' He shook his head to dispel the cobwebs that had woven themselves across his mind. 'I can't really remember.'

'I see.' Said Mrs Hughes in a highly unamused voice. 'Well I suggest you take those to your room…' She indicated the papers he held clutched by his side. '…and wait there for Mr Carson. He's with His Lordship now on your behalf.' She paused for effect. 'And I believe he will be wishing to speak to you afterwards.'

The almost theatrically ominous tone of her words was not lost on Jimmy, but coupled with the knowledge that Mrs Hughes herself could have little to say on a matter that had been referred to Lord Grantham by Mr Carson it had the opposite effect to the one desired.

With an equally theatrical eye-roll, aware it was most likely cheek the likes of which Mrs Hughes had never before encountered in all her years in service, Jimmy slunk away towards the staircase.

He chose his moment well; so assured of his imminent removal from the household was Mrs Hughes that she let his childish act of defiance go unremarked.

Jimmy remained walking until the point where he knew his legs would be no longer visible past the second bannisters, then he ran for it.

His progress momentarily slowed by the need to retrieve some papers he dropped in his haste, Jimmy made it to the attic in record time.

Wrenching open his bedroom door, truly _seeing_ the chaos of his room for the first time in days, he quickly established that it was unlikely he could get the room passable in time for Carson's imminent arrival. Not knowing how much time he actually had didn't help.

With a guttural groan of exasperation, angry at the way his heart pounded (panicked) in his ears as though the tidiness of his room actually _meant _anything in the grand scheme of things, he set to it. Most things got shoved unfolded into the night stand or desk drawer (danger of ink stains notwithstanding), those being the two locations least likely to be checked by Carson. But he was forced to hang the odd pair of trousers and fold up a few (dirty) shirts to give the illusion of an orderly wardrobe and chest of drawers.

He needn't have bothered to go to such lengths.

Carson merely glanced about the main area of the room while reproaching Jimmy about the amount of disruption his distracted state of mind was causing (while simultaneously assuring him that it was understood he was going through a highly testing situation; an assertion Jimmy found amusingly contradictory to the first point) and aside from a brief wrinkling of his nose, prompting Jimmy to attempt to recall (with difficulty) the last time he had a proper wash or cracked opened the bedroom window, excused himself after a remarkably brief meeting.

Jimmy was left with a feeling somewhat akin to having dodged a bullet.

The feeling was more one of amusement than relief, his bitterness at the bleakness of his current situation (even without the added blow of losing Thomas, and equally worryingly how little space he could find in his head at present to actually _care_) having spilled over into the kind of spite that relished the thought of Mr Carson's awkward conversation with Lord Grantham, not to mention the one he would soon be obliged to have with Mrs Hughes off the back of Lord Grantham's decision…

His flash of malice subsided rapidly as his stomach gave a lurch at the realisation he still had no idea what he was supposed to be doing that morning, and that he was most likely highly behind schedule for whatever it was, and that belting after Mr Carson to enquire as to the particulars was probably the only viable option.

A part of him wanted to stay, spread the papers out over his desk and get to work with his pen on re-wording, re-directing and re-interpreting the prescribed lines, but the part of him that had taken root at Downton (far more at times than he consciously realised) blanched at the notion of hiding away in his room and letting the great machine of the household tick on without him. Especially now.

'Mr Carson!' He called out as he legged it out of the room.

Finally catching up to him on the third floor, he was directed towards the glass cabinets in the sewing room (with orders to retrieve a cleaning cloth along the way).

Upon arrival, he found Alfred hard at task and, truth be told, almost finished buffing the glass doors to perfection.

Still, Jimmy was pleased to have been thrown in Alfred's way given the lack of opportunities that had arisen to actually speak to him of late; or at least since things had begun to go quite so spectacularly wrong.

Feigning nonchalance, but feeling his mood swing to something decidedly more 'chipper' than he would have thought the morning would allow, Jimmy trotted over to take up cleaning the last cabinet door.

They worked in silence for a few moments.

'Sorry I'm late…' Jimmy eventually said, shooting a smile at Alfred that he didn't turn round to see. '…one of those Inspectors came to see me this morning.' He said, redundantly, given Alfred's presence at breakfast.

Alfred gave a small nod. 'Yes.' He said simply, briefly standing on tip-toe to more closely inspect a spot on the glass that he was attempting to clean.

Jimmy ran his tongue over his teeth and tried again.

'So your visits with Mr Crawley are…going well?'

'Mmm.' Alfred murmured in agreement, his attention still on the stubborn spot as he committed the cardinal sin of spitting on the cloth before bringing it back up to the glass in an effort to shift it.

'Where was it that the two of you went on your last visit?' I heard it was somewhere near Manchester...?'

'It were nowhere in particular.' Said Alfred softly, finally satisfied with the spotless sheen of the cabinet door.

'Right.' Said Jimmy, turning back to his own glass door with a barely perceptible sigh. 'And…um…' He fought to keep unsteadiness from his voice as he attempted another heroic stab at conversation. '…do you think that…?'

He was half relieved when Alfred cut him off with a sympathetic yet final smile before heading for the door; he hadn't been quite sure how to end the sentence anyway.


	63. Our Interest - Chapter 63

**Our Interest – Chapter 63**

Jimmy found himself dismissed suspiciously early that evening, not even making it into the servant's hall after tending to the post-dinner drinks before being informed by Carson that his services would not be required for the rest of the evening. He read the unsubtle hint that he should use the time to get some sleep.

Instead he used the time more productively.

He knew it was a bad idea, he knew he would regret it, but he did it anyway.

By the time that first natural light peaked through the skylight window he had almost double the amount of pages of notes that he had first started with lying out over the floor and desk.

He managed to get into his clothes and style his hair more than adequately when the six o'clock morning call came, having spent the previous eight hours deeply immersed in the matter of his statement for the trial he didn't (unlike most previous mornings) have so much on his mind that practical considerations fell by the wayside.

The look of approval on Mr Carson's face as he took his place at the breakfast table a good few minutes before most of the others was proof of his success, and Jimmy found himself feeling quite optimistic about the day's prospects.

It didn't take long for the day to turn.

He didn't mean to sway as he entered the kitchen to pick up the tea tray for the upstairs breakfast service, but his fatigue demanded to make its presence known physically no matter how much he was able to mentally disregard it.

'Steady.' Thomas's voice rang out from behind him.

Jimmy turned to shoot Thomas a highly ill-humored look, stepping aside to allow him through into the kitchens ahead of him, no doubt to pester Daisy and Mrs Patmore once more on matters of stock ordering.

Annoyingly, Thomas didn't take the hint.

Remaining where he was, Thomas spoke softly. 'Are you not well? If you need to have a lie down, you can just…'

'I'm fine!' Hissed Jimmy, loudly enough for the entire kitchen to hear.

'Right you are.' Said Thomas coldly.

Jimmy felt the temperature around him fall a good few degrees as Thomas stepped past him.

Shaking his head in agitation, Jimmy dove forwards and snapped up the tea tray, bemoaning that it was a tea tray instead of a more important component of the breakfast (such things of course being in the remit of Alfred and Carson) as he went to walk it out of the kitchen.

It was just as well that the tray contained nothing more important than a silver tea set.

Jimmy wasn't sure precisely what he tripped on (it could have been the doorframe, the carpet, his own feet…) but the next thing he knew he was flat on his front with an army of silverware scattered on the floor around him.

'Ah…' He winced at a stab of pain in his wrist as he pulled himself up to his hands and knees, but thankfully the limb did not seem to be seriously hurt (although he felt somewhat concerned for the shoulder that the Duke had injured all those months before as that too gave a painful throb).

'Oh my word…!' Mrs Patmore exclaimed. 'You clumsy thing! Get that cleaned up this instant and we'll have to start again!'

He heard a few poorly muffled giggles from an unclear source.

'I'm alright.' Said Jimmy, not that anyone had actually asked that question, breathing deeply to reinflate his lungs.

He heard Daisy call Mrs Patmore over to the stove.

Moments later he saw the side of Thomas's feet as he stepped over him to continue on his way.

He was left in the corridor.

Sniffing back the phlegm threatening to escape from his nose, Jimmy bent forwards to begin to gather up the tea set. From his position on the floor he surveyed the damage, debating whether the spilt tea or mile presented the more immediate problem, praying that there would be no noticeable dents left in the silverware.

'Christ…' Drawled a familiar juvenile voice. Jimmy felt the tip of a shoe nudge his side. '…haven't you made a nice mess here?'

Jimmy turned wearily to see Brett standing over him, correctly deducing that Lee stood to the other side.

'Any excuse to get on the floor?' Said Lee, directing the barbed question more towards Brett than to Jimmy; clamoring for the formers approval.

Brett laughed. Jimmy sighed.

'And here we were thinking you needed OUR help to show this household just how useless you are…' Said Brett, pushing the sugar bowl across the floor and just out of Jimmy's reach with the side of his shoe.

'I beg your pardon?' The stern toned of Mrs Hughes had all three of them immediately snapping their eyes front as she approached with slow, measured footsteps.

'Mrs Hughes we…' Brett stuttered.

'Were just on your way _elsewhere_.' Said Mrs Hughes firmly.

'Right away, Mrs Hughes.' Brett and Lee chorused quickly, scampering away down the corridor.

Jimmy immediately resumed the task of gathering up the silverware, putting it back messily on the tray.

'James…?' Said Mrs Hughes.

Jimmy didn't answer, merely redoubling his efforts to clear the floor.

'Are you…are you alright James?' Said Mrs Hughes.

'Is there a cloth, or something, about?' Said Jimmy quietly, looking up at her with a determinedly blank expression.

She regarded him for a moment.

'I suggest you go and find one.' She said shortly.

That afternoon Thomas was doing his best to not think about Jimmy. Or rather, his lingering guilt at having declined to offer any assistance when he fell over. Not to mention the medical instinct which practically demanded that he give him the once-over to make sure he was actually 'alright'.

The instruction to attend to Mr Crawley in his room was a welcome distraction from the way that his mind had been wandering while inspecting the work of the maids in the reception rooms.

But it became instantly apparent that he was being offered no such reprieve.

'Mr Barrow!' Matthew enthusiastically greeted him as he entered. 'Whiskey?' Thomas thought he might as well, although the offer of a drink didn't bode well in terms of the potential reason for this meeting having been requested.

'I wanted the chance to let you know…' Said Matthew, once the two of them had managed to sink a few sips of their drinks. '…that although myself and Alfred will be away from Downton tomorrow, I intend to return the day after to enable me to attend the trial. I have booked a car to take the two of us to the courtrooms, along with James.'

Thomas's skin went cold. 'Us?'

'Yes.' Said Matthew, mistaking his reaction. 'I'm sure you can understand that Lord Grantham will not be accompanying us, and in fact I have been advised not to go myself, but I cannot abide the idea of…'

'No.' Thomas cut in rudely. 'I mean…Sorry, Mr Crawley.' He quickly said. 'What I meant was that…I myself was not intending to go.'

Matthew's glass stopped mid-way to his mouth. 'Oh?'

'Well it's just…' Thomas said awkwardly. 'James and I aren't…you know…any more. I mean…' Thomas sighed. '…things aren't well between us. I'd go so far as to say that they're over, in fact. So I think my going would be inappropriate.' _Unnecessary, uncomfortable, unwelcome…_

Matthew looked as though he had been punched.

'I won't deny that we've become somewhat…aware that things haven't been quite right between yourself and James.' Said Matthew carefully. 'But, Thomas, not so long ago you were willing to give up _everything_ for him. And now, what? It's just…finished?'

Thomas leant his head to one side and gave a half-hearted shrug.

'Why?' Demanded Matthew, the question coming out a little more harsh than intended. He had never been one to take matters of love and devotion lightly, especially when it came to the _ending_ of romantic attachment.

Thomas's eyes snapped darkly onto his.

'Sorry.' Matthew quickly said, forcing his tone to take on a more genial feel. 'It's just a shock.'

Thomas's expression softened as he gave a small nod of agreement.

'When did this happen?' Matthew continued.

Thomas shrugged again, a little more exaggeratedly this time. 'I'm not even sure.' He said bitterly, slapping a hand down against his thigh and giving a sharp exhale. 'But Jimmy…James…has made it abundantly clear that he doesn't want to share, well, _anything _with me anymore.'

'Heavens.' Whispered Matthew.

'Yes.' Said Thomas resignedly.

'And this is…final?' Said Matthew.

'I think so.'

'So you're not sure?' Out of Thomas's line of sight Matthew shot him a highly probing sideways glance.

'Well, I…'

'I only ask…' Said Matthew, making a show of walking over to freshen his glass as though it were only a throwaway comment. '…because if it's NOT finished, you will most likely regret abandoning young James in his…hour of need, so to speak.'

'How so?' Said Thomas wearily, staring down at his own almost empty glass, not even remotely convinced by Matthew's show of nonchalance in his efforts to hide his will to meddle.

'Well…' Said Matthew slowly. '…when it's all over, if you were in his position, would you forgive _you_ for not being there?'

'Mr Crawley, would you want your lover in the same room as a group of diseased whores and the man who used to pay you for sex?' Thomas snorted. 'Oh…' He whispered, going into complete internal meltdown at the sudden panicked realisation that he wasn't _entirely_ sure as to how much detail Jimmy had actually gone into when explaining the terms of his employment as regards to Lord Anstruther to Matthew and Robert.

He relaxed a little when Matthew gave no reaction, but was still left with something of a bitter taste in his mouth.

'I would not.' Matthew concurred. 'But I also know I wouldn't want to draw boundaries between us when it comes to being open about past truths…however uncomfortable they may be.'

Thomas fought the urge to roll his eyes at Matthew. The sentimentality in his words and expression would have been distasteful to a man in the most harmonious of relationships, let alone one suffering the bitterness of disappointment.

But with the word 'final' still lingering in the back of his mind, followed by a nebulous but stubborn question mark, Thomas found that he couldn't quite dismiss Matthew's sickening optimism.

Plus he had the feeling there was only one way to get out of the room alive.

'Thank you for arranging the car, Mr Crawley.' He said with a sniff. 'I would of course be most grateful to be allowed to accompany yourself and James to Manchester.'

'Good.' Said Matthew pleasantly.

_The air tasted fresher at night, especially that late. The choking smog of the daytime abated as fires were extinguished and the nighttime dampness rolled across from the open moorland, and crept out of the river, into the city. Jimmy tasted it with enthusiasm before leading his companion away from the main street and into the privacy of a largely boarded up alleyway beyond. _

_'Well?' He said, turning to the heavy-set man (Factory foreman? Shop owner? Some kind of generic profession bringing enough disposable income to allow a little after-midnight indulgence with a pretty and obliging man without enough cash of his own). 'What do you think?' He turned his head up a little, expertly allowing the dim remnant glow of the streetlight to catch his cheekbones before continuing forwards to immerse himself in the darkness of the alley. _

_'Oh this'll do well…' Said his companion, eagerly following with only the most cursory of glances over his shoulder. 'So…?' _

_Jimmy stood still, a wry, unseen, smile on his face as he heard the sound of the man struggling clumsily with unclipping his braces and unbuttoning his fly. _

_'…you going to get down there and open that pretty mouth for me?'_

_'I could…' Said Jimmy, his half-smile increasing. 'Or…' He said slowly. '…you could put it somewhere else, couldn't you?'_

_ 'Look lad, if you changed your mind, you needed only say so.' Grumbled the man, fumbling equally as clumsily to get his trousers done up again. 'You don't want to go round teasing people like this. Might get you into trouble.' He said, but the words lacked venom._

_Jimmy rolled his eyes. 'You mistake my meaning.' He said. In a few short movements he had his own trousers open, having neither braces nor underwear to contend with (his manner of dress always eminently practical), and pushed down to mid-thigh. _

_Taking a moment to enjoy his companion's surprised expression, visible even in the poor light, Jimmy turned slowly around to face the wall. Bending at the waist, leaning forwards just enough to bring the tails of his jacket up to expose the naked flesh beneath, he placed his palms on the wall. _

_'Lad…I wasn't…' The man trailed off, his voice dry. His tongue provided no moisture as he involuntarily licked his lips at the sight before him. '…your mouth is fine.' He said. 'If it's a question of money, I'm happy to up my offer for the use of your mouth, you know. You don't have to…'_

_'What's the problem?' Said Jimmy a little tersely. 'Afraid?'_

_'Of hurting you, yes.' Said the man. 'It's a big thing to do…THAT…lad.' _

_'If you think I'm new to this, then I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you…' Said Jimmy with a slight snort, bending a little further forwards towards the wall, inhaling the damp scent of the bricks. 'You can always find me at The Bellows pub if you want to go away and have a little think about it…' He drawled._

_He heard his companion's breath get shorter as an experimental palm ran tentatively along the exposed curve of his rear. _

_'Well if you're sure…' The man choked out, sounding as though he could hardly believe his luck. _

_'Yes.' Jimmy whispered, bracing himself a little more firmly against the wall. _

_He felt the familiar claustrophobia settle over him as one of the man's arms came to rest at the side of his head as he moved into position, relaxing in absent ecstasy as inexpert fingers stretched him open, his eyes rolling back into his head as he let out a low exclamation of…_

Jimmy's eyes snapped open, only to screw themselves back shut again almost instantly.

He shook violently under the bed sheets, raising a hand to his forehead as a miserable wail forced it's way from the back of his throat.

Within moments his face and the pillow below were salty and wet as the shaking continued unabated, exacerbated by his desperate efforts to keep the insistent keening sounds at bay.

He knew the stillness of the night air at Downton was unforgiving for even the slightest noise.

What he didn't know was that even his heavily muffled cries had drawn several of his fellow cohabitants out of their sleep.

Lee leant across the floorboards to slap Brett awake, indicating the sound of Jimmy's crying to his room-mate, surprised at the perceived evidence of the success of their campaign against him.

Alfred started awake, setting his jaw uncomfortably, believing he was hearing evidence of quite how keenly Jimmy was feeling the loss of his friendship.

Thomas closed his eyes and fought back tears of his own. Knowing that whatever it was, it had nothing to do with him.


	64. Our Interest - Chapter 64

**Our Interest – Chapter 64**

Jimmy missed breakfast the day of the trial, which did nothing for Thomas's nerves.

Munching his way through dry toast, having quite forgotten the butter, Thomas met the fleeting looks of concern and curiosity that got shot his way with a stubbornly blank face. He had no intention of engaging with the business of the trial in any way beyond his obligation (courtesy of Matthew's well meaning presumption) to be physically present, and dearly hoped that the other staff would read the hint in his dark demeanor over breakfast that he did NOT wish to be quizzed about the events of the day upon returning home that evening.

There was something else causing him to take longer than usual to get through his slice of toast; the utter certainty that the day would somehow be a complete disaster.

He wasn't entirely sure _how_ the day would go wrong, he was just certain it would.

Thomas knew there was more to the business of the trial than he had been told. Or at least, he reasoned that there _had_ to be.

Sensitive though the subject of Jimmy's past undeniably was, Thomas remained of the opinion that no information he had become party to so far justified or explained either the breakdown in communication between Jimmy and himself or the spectacular deterioration of Jimmy's social motivation and work ethic.

Thomas didn't fancy Jimmy's chances of getting away with his plan to deny the blatant truth for Antruther's sake.

Jimmy had most certainly not been projecting the appearance of a man in control over the past few weeks. The idea of him standing up to convincingly lie to a room full of people, several of whom Thomas suspected _did _know the truth, not to mention the issue of Anstruther himself, along with Tim, who _definitely_ knew the truth, was laughable; it seemed far too great an ask for a man who could barely get it together to carry a tray or adequately comb his hair in the morning.

As if to deliberately throw Thomas even more off kilter, when Jimmy finally appeared at the doorway to the servant's hall in his grey suit (Thomas having donned his blue pinstripe for the occasion) he was astonishingly picture-postcard perfect in his presentation. His skin was moisturized, his hair gleaming and impossibly neat, his face shaved to precision, clothes clean and pressed, shoes shined, posture immaculate.

Thomas stared. And he wasn't the only one.

It was only at that point, seeing Jimmy groomed to his full potential, that it became clear the degree to which his appearance had been allowed to decline of late. It was unsettling. As was the calculated and almost unearthly perfection of the appearance of the creature currently before them.

Thomas had to hand it to Jimmy; he certainly looked the part of a stable, clean-cut and eminently trustworthy young man.

Coughing up a few crumbs of toast that had lodged themselves in his tonsils, Thomas quickly drained the remains of his cup of tea and rose to join him at the door.

Matthew met them at the front of the house. He offered a reassuring smile to Jimmy but otherwise restricted his attentions towards Thomas; correctly deducing, as Thomas had done minutes earlier, that Jimmy had no inclination towards conversation on this particular morning.

The ride over to Manchester was a silent, stuffy affair. Thomas found himself disinclined towards conversation as well upon entering the car, leaving Matthew to twiddle his hands, excitable but bored, staring out the window, while Jimmy ignored them both. He sat, perfectly still, perfectly focused, and perfectly reflective for the entire journey.

The only sign of discomfort came when he hesitated a fraction of a second longer than necessary before getting out of the car outside the courtrooms. Thomas registered it, but didn't say anything.

The 'Jimmy' that entered the courtroom was a disturbingly good impersonation of the tentative but endearingly prideful man who had informed Thomas that he hoped to be his Lordship's Footman all those months previous, and as the three of them parted ways to sit in their respective areas (Thomas and Matthew to the Gallery, Jimmy to wait behind the prosecutor's bench) Thomas was left feeling as though he knew Jimmy as little now as he had done then; a slightly melodramatic sentiment, he mentally conceded to himself, given everything that had happened between them, but the feeling of estrangement was nevertheless real and potent.

With a heavy sigh, and an ardent wish for the charade to be over, Thomas surveyed the courtroom.

Anstruther was an intense disappointment. Save for his hair being a little longer than strictly fashionable (although, Thomas mused, even _that _could simply be a by-product of French as opposed to English fashion) there was absolutely nothing either remarkable or offensive about his appearance.

The man did look a little…hollow, perhaps having been rather poorly provisioned with food (or having little inclination to eat it) before the trial, but Thomas couldn't quite bring himself to mock him on that account.

Thomas's hopes that Anstruther's actions would provide him with adequate justification for his festering anger were speedily dashed as well.

As though personally dedicated to frustrating Thomas, Anstruther did precisely _nothing_.

No arrogant raise of the head, no smug twist of the lips, and (most annoyingly for Thomas, who was dearly hoping for an excuse to at least _fantasise_ about punching him) no lecherous eyes in Jimmy's direction. Actually he didn't look the way of the 'witnesses' at all, and most of them were returning the favor. The man simply stayed still, looking dispassionately down at the railings in front of him.

Thomas found Tim easily in the line of…undesirables.

Someone, Thomas suspected NOT Tim himself, had certainly done a number in terms of scrubbing them up for the occasion; but his clothing was still shabby and unmistakably out-of-date lower working class. No doubt a calculated decision on the part of the Police to ensure the courtroom was well aware of the nature of the men before them, however 'clean' they may appear.

Thomas found himself wondering if Jimmy had been similarly instructed, in his case to appear unnaturally well groomed and precisely attired to emphasise his respectability. It twisted his gut a little to realise that he actually had no idea.

Thomas gave his head a small shake to clear his mind.

He watched the officials file in, taking a deep breath to brace for the impact his nerves had him utterly convinced was coming, his brow furrowed in discomfort.

Within less than half an hour, Thomas wasn't the only one frowning.

Somewhere amid a mess of conflicting dates, contradictory accounts and conspicuously shifty eyes and awkward posture the prostitutes had the prosecution decidedly flustered…and the watching detectives looking as though they were about to burst several blood vessels between them.

'Gosh, these men seem rather unreliable witnesses.' Whispered Matthew to Thomas, although he was more incredulous at the incompetence of those asking the questions rather than those answering them; wondering how on earth they could have missed the obvious discrepancies in their own witness accounts.

'That they do.' Thomas agreed, highly suspecting that the witness accounts _had_ initially matched and more than a little shocked by the brazen nature of the witnesses rebellion. He couldn't for the life of him see what they had to gain, particularly when they had everything to lose by impeding the course of 'justice' and making the prosecutors look like fools.

Still, a few bruising verbal probes into the drug and alcohol related activities of the men in question somehow had the dirty activities of the whores seem simultaneously eminently plausible, while providing adequate excuse for the inconsistencies in their stories.

Thomas had to hand it to the prosecutor, he actually managed to pull things semi back on track by the end of that particular session; something which had Thomas's extremities tingling with pin pricks of nerves as Jimmy stepped up.

'…and precisely what kind of 'extra staff' were taken on at the behest of Lord Anstruther for the purpose of these soirees?' Said the prosecutor, glancing down at his notes despite both he and Jimmy knowing precisely what was to come next…or at least, Jimmy knew.

'Extra servers to take around the drinks and canapés.' Said Jimmy brightly. 'The Dowager kept a small complement of permanent staff so we were often obliged to take on additional staff when his Lordship was in attendance.'

Thomas winced; detecting the precise moment that the prosecutor realised that the expected additional information wasn't coming. The man's jaw line hardened and the tendons in his neck twitched agitatedly, belying the placid (although now decidedly fixed) look on his face.

'And why…' There was a noticeable change in inflection in the prosecutor's voice. '…were _these_ men…' He indicated towards the prostitutes who sat nonchalantly staring at the floor, showing no interest in the proceedings or Jimmy. '…used instead of…say…men with _anything_ resembling formal training or experience in the art of serving?'

Thomas had to look away.

His gaze came to settle on Anstruther.

The tiny hint of surprise (and even tinier hint of delight) that Thomas _thought_ he read in Anstruther's eyes, which still remained fixed on the railings rather than the unfolding drama, sickened him.

'I wouldn't presume to question my Master's hiring policies…' Jimmy's pleasant and respectfully deferent speech rang out in the court room. '…I would merely say that in the lean years following the post-war recovery, my understanding is that even our Lords and Ladies had to economise where they could on the hiring of skilled staff. And I believe these gentlemen as capable of carrying an item from place to place as the next man.'

It was flawless, especially the genius touch of second hand shame at having to reference his employer's financial difficulties in such a public setting, not to mention the tug of the heart-strings of every stout Englishman at reference to the Great War.

Thomas exhaled shakily, feeling the way he imagined Jimmy _should_ feel…but evidently didn't.

'But I thought…' Matthew leaned over to whisper to Thomas.

Thomas raised an insistent hand to silence him.

Of all the things currently hanging in the balance, Matthew's ignorance regarding Jimmy's plan was the absolute least of his worries.

Sensing the urgency of the gesture and the intense discomfort and fear in Thomas's expression, Matthew consented to remain silent.

With the briefest glance towards Inspector Locke to seek approval, the prosecutor took it upon himself to venture 'off script' as well.

'Mr Kent, could you talk us through _your_ role in these social gatherings?'

'I mostly handled the drinks side of things, as was proper for a First Footman, but sometimes I helped serve the…'

'And is it also true that you allowed guests license for inappropriate contact?'

Thomas closed his eyes, of _course_ they would go after Jimmy's 'extra services' should all else fail.

It was obvious to all concerned that this represented a last ditch attempt to bring the farce of a trial back on track now that not only the lowly street walkers but also the perfectly respectable young man had refused to honor the agreed upon story.

But still, it _could_ work.

Discrediting Jimmy as covering up for his master (which was, of course, true) let alone that he actively participated in deviant behavior (also true) would provide just enough of a corroboration of the sketchy stories from the others witnesses to enable the trial to convincingly deliver upon the blatantly fixed verdict…a verdict which was rapidly slipping away.

'I had to help escort the occasional inebriated gentleman to their vehicle at the end of the evening if that's what you're meaning…?' Replied Jimmy, oh so helpfully, with his brow furrowed as though attempting to puzzle out himself how his carrying drunk men to their cars fit into a criminal indecency trial.

'I am referring to _sexual _contact, Mr Kent.' The prosecutor orated accusatorily. 'Is it not true that you appeared at these events in a state of undress? That you engaged in numerous acts of…'

Thomas fought the urge to laugh as he felt Matthew's fingers clutching at his own.

He had a feeling Matthew's nerves needed more calming than his own at that point, because Thomas suddenly knew, with absolute crystal clarity, that Jimmy would be absolutely fine.

He was too good at the game.

The look of horror on Jimmy's face at the prosecutor's new line of questioning was a perfect blend of disgust at the implication and indignation that anyone could _possibly_ think such things of such an upstanding gentleman as himself.

This he reflected in his answers, perfectly plausible, eminently innocent, and completely believable answers, as the prosecutor's questions quickly descended well beyond the acceptable limit of propriety (both in terms of their 'leading' nature and the content itself) in response.

No one stepped in to put a stop to it.

Because it was becoming speedily apparent that the presiding officials sympathies were now firmly rooted in Anstruther's camp at the spectacular failing of the prosecution to produce any credible evidence from their witnesses. And in the interests of demonstrating as such (given the likelihood that Anstruther, should he walk free, would be in a position to do them all a grievous hurt) they were keen to allow the prosecution to dig themselves an even bigger hole to be publicly buried in by publicly bullying a polite, agreeable and oh-so respectable young man in a last ditch attempt to save their case…or indeed, to convince those present that they even _had _a case.

Jimmy was so convincing in his continual denial in fact that Thomas found himself mentally drowning out the noise of the court to simply listen to Jimmy; indulging in the make-believe that actually he had been mistaken, Jimmy had never had relations with his employer, nor anyone else for that matter, and he was as sweet and innocent as any nice young man could be. Thomas bitterly laughed at himself for imagining a Jimmy that would almost certainly never allow him to touch him. Not to mention the sense of betrayal at the wistful wish for _that_ Jimmy, rather than the twisted and sullied version that reality had to offer.

'Come on…' Thomas came back to reality with a bump, having zoned out a little more than he had realised, as Matthew tugged him to his feet at the close.

'James…' Said Matthew by way of greeting as he joined them on the steps.

Jimmy didn't say anything, simply striding alongside them as they made their way to the car.

Thomas noted that Tim was nowhere to be seen, having not even realised at first that he had been looking for him.

He settled into the seat next to Matthew, opposite Jimmy.

The change in Jimmy as the car pulled away was instantaneous and shocking.

He deflated and dulled in the manner usually reserved for the period immediately after closing ones bedroom door for private reflection at the end of a _very_ stressful day. He looked totally spent, his eyes dead and blank as he stared unseeing at the soot stained buildings running past the window.

Thomas watched him out of the corner of his eye, a little disturbed at the evidence of just how much it had taken it out of Jimmy to appear 'normal' for the day.


	65. Our Interest - Chapter 65

**Our Interest – Chapter 65**

The quiet in the car on the return journey was maddening to Matthew. Not so to Thomas and Jimmy, who were both taking the opportunity for a much needed moment of quiet reflection.

Still, Matthew's agitated fiddling and constant glances towards Jimmy (to see if he's finally fallen asleep to enable him to interrogate Thomas in private) had Thomas back on edge in a matter of minutes.

Thomas knew exactly what was on Matthew's mind, although he was a little bitter about Matthew's evident desire to discuss the matter with _him_ before querying it with Jimmy. Although he supposed, stealing a glance at the fragile looking figure propped up against the car window, that under normal circumstances he would be reluctant to broach controversial topics with a person in such a state himself. At least not before getting all the facts.

After another glance towards Jimmy to see if his attention was still fixed on the window, Matthew gestured to get Thomas's attention.

Thomas watched resignedly as Matthew mimed smoking a cigarette and then indicated questioningly towards Jimmy.

Thomas shook his head. No, Jimmy didn't smoke. Or at least he hadn't in front of him. He grimaced internally, knowing what was coming.

'Driver!' Matthew called, so triumphantly and abruptly that Thomas's grimace quickly made the transition from internal to external and Jimmy almost leapt out of his seat. 'Pull over when you can. Mr Barrow would like to stop for a cigarette.' He announced.

Jimmy's gaze flicked accusatorily in Thomas's direction, clearly unconvinced by Matthew's cover.

'Do you want one?' Thomas responded flatly, more than happy to involve Jimmy in the process of explaining the day's events to Matthew.

Jimmy merely turned his head back to rest on the window, a hint of a disdainful sneer at his lips.

'Shall we…?' Said Matthew merrily, snapping Thomas out of his reverie (and his current fantasy of pulling Jimmy over his knee for a sharp smacking).

'Yes, Mr Crawley.' Said Thomas, following him obediently out of the car.

He instantly fumbled to get a cigarette lit, managing to smoke it almost halfway through by the time Matthew was satisfied they had walked far enough away from the car to avoid being overheard.

While he was grateful for the chance to get out of the stuffy car (albeit unenthusiastic about drawing out the length of the journey any more than necessary) Thomas was none too happy about being immersed within the copse of trees to the side of the road. The cigarette smoke and fresh spring foliage couldn't quite mask the underlying aroma of rot from the exposed soil, something which harkened Thomas back to his disturbingly primal woodland interlude with Crowborough the previous year.

He found he was almost grateful when Matthew finally deigned to broach the subject of Jimmy. Anything to distract him from the annoyingly potent sensory recall.

'What the devil happened there?' Matthew demanded. He spoke curiously rather than angrily, but there was the ever present hint of warning against any attempt at deflection.

He needn't have worried; Thomas had neither the inclination or the energy to lie on Jimmy's behalf at that point.

'I'm given to understand…' Said Thomas measuredly. '…that James feels somewhat beholden to his previous employer, and therefore took the decision to…' Thomas shoulders gave a slight shudder that he quickly turned into a shrug. '…lie about the particulars of working in the Anstruther household to frustrate the chances of the prosecution succeeding in the case against him.'

'But he _was_ supposed to be there to help put him in prison…?' Said Matthew, quite literally scratching his head in confusion.

'And yet…' Thomas trailed off with another shrug, taking a deeper than usual taste of cigarette smoke.

'So you _knew_ he intended to do this?'

'I did.' Thomas said, waiting patiently for the inevitable follow on.

'And _why_ were myself and Lord Grantham not told?'

'Well I think…' Thomas began.

'He took a _terrible _risk! I mean…he handled himself admirably, I don't deny. He is astonishingly clever and quick witted. More so than many men of my acquaintance in the legal profession.' Matthew continued, insistently cutting through Thomas's attempt to respond. 'But _think_ of what he has done. He has perjured himself in court. Allowed a criminal to walk free…' Thomas raised an eyebrow at that, but decided his brain couldn't handle invoking yet more conflict. '…endangered the good name of the Crawley household…'

'He hasn't though, has he?' Thomas said quietly, eager to break Matthew's flow as the man's face began to turn an unattractive shade of puce.

'This is no joking matter, Mr Barrow.' Matthew responded curtly. 'I don't care how well co-ordinated this plan was amongst the witnesses, it could have easily gone _horribly_ wrong.'

Thomas decided against riling at the insinuation he was in any way trying to make light of the matter.

'My understanding is that Jimmy was acting alone.' Said Thomas, shrugging yet again. 'I…I had cause to visit one of the other men, and neither he nor Jimmy…James…were even aware of where the other was living. I don't see how they could have all…'

'You visited a male prostitute?'

'Yes…NO!...I mean…' Thomas discarded his cigarette and took out another. '…yes I did, but only because James wanted me to deliver some money to him, as an old acquaintance that James thought might be in need of aid.'

'But you didn't discuss the trial…?' Matthew prompted.

'Only in so far as asking him not to give the game away as regards James's exploits.' Said Thomas.

'Jesus.' Muttered Matthew to the trees. 'Do you not realise how easily this could have BLOWN UP in your FACES!?' He suddenly shouted.

'Well it didn't!' Thomas shouted back, startled into anger of his own by Matthew's attack. 'It's all bloody FINE!'

Matthew shrank back, leaving Thomas to wonder if he had maintained as much control over his facial expression as he had hoped.

'Why are you so angry?' Said Matthew softly.

'I DON'T KNOW!' Thomas shouted back hoarsely, each word punching it's way out of his mouth, utterly losing the ability to reign himself in. 'I don't know. I don't know why everyone's so sodding eager to throw themselves on their swords for that…that…' Even through his haze of anger Thomas was uncomfortably aware that he had insufficient knowledge of Anstruther to accurately insult him. So he repurposed a Crowborough classic. '…arrogant CUNT!'

Matthew blinked, stunned.

Thomas wiped away the spittle that had accumulated on his lips and took a few shaky nicotine tinged breaths. 'I don't know.' He shook his head. His anger flared again as he looked back in the direction of the car.

'Talk to him indoors…' Thomas said darkly, stabbing a finger in the general direction of Jimmy. '…because I don't have a _fucking_ clue.'

He threw the second cigarette butt on the floor and stood with his hands on his hips, breathing as though he had just completed a marathon.

'Perhaps it's best left.' Matthew said quietly after a long silence. 'I'll handle Lord Grantham…and Mr Carson. Just…' Matthew regarded Thomas carefully. '…let's get back to running Downton shall we?'

Thomas gave a small nod.

He headed back meekly for the car.

Jimmy didn't look up to acknowledge him as he climbed back into the car with Matthew following close behind.

Thomas emulated Jimmy for the rest of the drive, leaning miserably up against the window, staring at the increasingly open scenery in silence.

Matthew had a good question, why _was _he so angry?

The proof that more people besides Jimmy were willing to put themselves at risk for Anstruther's sake put a frustrating dampener on Thomas's desire to hate the man on principle.

But that wasn't it.

The problem was, simply, that there _was_ no problem. Or at least not one he could see.

However spent he may look now, Thomas was uncomfortably conscious that the events of the trial had presented very little trouble to Jimmy.

Thomas was stuck between relief that the matter had concluded so painlessly for Jimmy, and seething resentment that such an apparently trivial matter (in hindsight) had managed to utterly destroy their relationship.

Still…now it was over.

And he and Jimmy would continue to live in close proximity.

And Jimmy _had_ said that he would be more amenable to discussion after the trial.

Although, Thomas darkly recalled as he watched Jimmy heading up the stairs to the attic without so much as a backwards glance towards him, that had been _before_ he had quite so finally called off their…arrangement.

Jimmy felt a surge of relief as he reached his bedroom.

Assuming, rather than asking, permission to do so, Jimmy took it upon himself to take the evening off.

Peeling off his clothes in a daze of fatigue, Jimmy crawled into bed and drew up the covers over his head, ready to make his first serious attempt at sleep in weeks; trusting to it's potential now that his mind could release the preoccupation with Anstruther's predicament.


	66. Our Interest - Chapter 66

**Our Interest – Chapter 66**

Thomas, on the other hand, went to bed that night in such an agitated state that sleep seemed a complete impossibility.

So it came as something of a shock when he suddenly became aware of the sensation of being startled awake by a knocking at his bedroom door.

Groggy and confused, Thomas stumbled over to the door in the almost total darkness of the room, not bothering to throw his robe on over his pyjamas; reasoning that anyone waking him in the dead of night could damn well deal with the sight of however he chose to present himself. He screwed his eyes partially shut in preparation for the light of the corridor outside as he opened the door.

His eyelids flew open as his brow descended at the sight of almost the entire complement of male staff stood in a bunch outside his door.

'Oh…so you _are_ in here.' Said Brett, as Alfred sheepishly lowered the hand he had used to knock.

'Yes, well…' Mumbled Carson, looking more than a little flustered.

Thomas's sleepy brain tried to puzzle out why Brett and Alfred seemed so surprised (and Carson seemed so relieved) to find him in his own bedroom.

Then he heard them.

The loud moans echoing down the corridor.

A quick headcount of those present, mostly hanging back looking confused, quickly established the culprit as Jimmy.

Thomas walked slowly out of his room, disregarding the throng of people gathered outside, to stare down the corridor and tune his ears more towards the sound.

He took the briefest of moments to be perturbed that anyone could mistake the noises that Jimmy was making for anything other than anguish and pain, and that he himself could be thought responsible for such noises, but his focus speedily shifted to concern as to what actually _had_.

He set off briskly down the corridor, the others in his wake, to knock at Jimmy's door.

The noises continued unabated.

The sound of sniffling sobs in between each louder exclamation of distress became more noticeable at such close range.

'Jimmy, are you alright?' Called Thomas through the door.

There was no change.

Loathe to open the door uninvited with such a crowd present Thomas turned to speak to Carson, to entreat him to send the others away and back to bed.

But Carson's impatience and ill-temper at having a corridor full of sleepy servants at around four o'clock in the morning had him brushing past Thomas to throw open the door himself.

He took an involuntary step back at the sight which awaited.

Hunched over almost double on the bed, with the twisted sheets clutched firmly in his white-knuckled hands, Jimmy was shaking violently; but, evidently, still asleep.

'My God…' Whispered Thomas, not alone in being alarmed at the level of hurt and distressed in Jimmy's scrunched up face.

'Well don't just stand there!' Said Carson, gesturing Thomas towards the pitiful figure of Jimmy.

But Thomas was frozen.

Shaking his head in agitation, Carson lowered himself and the candle in his hand a little closer to the bed.

'Mr Kent!' He called uselessly, earning himself some bemused looks from the onlookers at his use of formal address under such circumstances. 'Mr Kent, it is Mr Carson here…'

Snapped back to reality by his exasperation at Carson's incompetence, Thomas crossed the room in a few short steps and crouched by the bedside to shake Jimmy's arm.

'Jimmy!' He said sharply.

It took only a few moments for Jimmy's eyes to open, and a fraction of a second for recognition to dawn in his eyes at the sight of Thomas.

Thomas released his hold on Jimmy's arm before Jimmy had the chance to shake it off and rose to his feet as Jimmy sheepishly surveyed the crowd in his room, untangling and smoothing his bed sheets to cover his underwear-clad self as he did so.

'What are you all doing in here then?' Said Jimmy gruffly.

Thomas couldn't quite keep in a sharp and very audible exclamation of bitter amusement.

_I swear to God, if you even THINK of denying you were having a nightmare…_

'It would appear you were having a bad dream, James.' Said Carson. 'And you were making a lot of noise about it.'

Jimmy pursed his lips. 'Sorry, Mr Carson.' He muttered. 'And sorry everyone else…for waking you up.'

'Right.' Said Carson, happy the incident had resolved itself so easily (given the suspicion that had leapt to his, and several other's, minds as soon as the sound of moans reached their ears) but now painfully aware that they all had less than two hours of sleep to look forward to. 'To bed, I think.' He said, speaking generally to those assembled.

As the others started to file out, Thomas made a point of catching Jimmy's eye.

'Should I stay a moment?' He said, addressing Carson as much as Jimmy.

'To bed, I think, Mr Barrow.' Carson repeated firmly.

But Thomas was not to be so easily put off. 'Jimmy?'

'Why would I want you to stay?' Mumbled Jimmy dully as he sank back down onto his pillow.

'Well I think that's that settled then.' Said Carson neutrally, motioning for Thomas to lead the way out of the room.


	67. Our Interest - Chapter 67

**Our Interest - Chapter 67**

'No. And that's final.' Robert sprang up from the sofa, a tad melodramatically truth be told, to emphasise that the discussion was over. Three paces away he realised he hadn't thought ahead to select a purpose for his having risen quite so abruptly from his seat and was forced to pretend that something riveting was happening out of the window to cover his impetuosity.

Cora watched him wryly from her perch opposite, her embroidery needle temporarily stilling to enable her to put all her attention into silently mocking Robert's unease.

'I don't see how we can refuse, dear.' She said pleasantly, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth conveying her amusement that Robert thought the situation quite so catastrophic and her absolute certainty of victory.

'To accept a man of such…ill-repute…into our house! Unthinkable!' Robert jerked his head vigorously as though shaking the notion from his mind might also remove it from reality itself.

'He's not a man of ill-repute.' Cora responded, her voice light and breezy as she began to sew once more. 'At least not as far as the courts are concerned.' She paused momentarily to focus on a particularly difficult loop-stitch. 'And it _was _our own Footman who helped exonerate him. Don't you think it would look a little odd if we were to refuse to associate with him given that we were by association instrumental in his being _cleared _of the charges?' The speech tripped easily off her tongue as a new green leaf began to take shape in embroidery silks on the fabric before her.

'Yes, but we know him to be guilty!' Robert huffed. 'I'll not have a man of such character in my house.'

'You tolerate Mr Barrow and James well enough…' Said Cora neutrally.

'Mr Barrow is one thing.' Said Robert with a sigh, having now actually found something to look at through the windowpane. 'But James is rapidly becoming far more trouble than he's worth.'

'You don't mean that.' Cora mildly scolded, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

Robert spun around and crossed the room slowly to drop back into his seat on the well-stuffed sofa.

'I say you ought to ask me that again once I've suffered the indignity of admitting Anstruther into my home.' He said defeatedly, his eyes not completely devoid of amusement at the teasing look in Cora's expression.

'For heaven's sake Robert, the man is asking to come for a cup of tea…it's not as though he's trying to wheedle an invitation to…Oh I don't know…a dinner, or a hunt…or the _wedding_.' Cora said, her eyes brightening at the thought of Edith's upcoming celebration. 'And he most definitely won't be staying the night.' She added pointedly.

'I couldn't agree more on that score.' Said Robert ruefully.

'Besides, I thought you always _liked_ Anstruther?'

Robert murmured dryly. 'Well…clearly a lot has changed since he used to visit here as a child.'

'I won't argue that point.' Said Cora with an artful raise of a brow.

Robert sighed. 'I suppose you are right, we shall have to have him. If only for this once. I imagine it's not us he'll be coming to see anyway.

'Mmmmm.' Cora mused. 'Perhaps we ought to make sure Alfred serves the tea, along with Mr Carson? I imagine there could be some awkwardness if we don't…'

Robert nodded. 'Yes. That's a smart thought. If he does wish to meet with James, to thank him, then he can do so afterwards…out of my sight.'

'It might help you know.' Said Cora after a pause. 'James still doesn't seem quite right after it all…'

When the news of Anstruther's _brief_ (emphasis on the word 'brief') visit for _tea _(emphasis on 'tea' alone) filtered it's way downstairs, Thomas was grudgingly forced to come to a similar conclusion to Cora.

There had been no further rude awakenings to be had over the nights that had immediately followed the trial, which was certainly an intense relief to all those who had had to suffer through a day of cranky and tired men-servants following Jimmy's nightmare.

Thomas had been among those relieved at the lack of interruptions during the next night.

But over the course of the next couple of days the relief quickly morphed back into concern. Because it was becoming painfully apparent that, while everyone was sleeping, Jimmy blatantly wasn't.

He moved through his daily tasks in an absent minded and dour haze, impressing absolutely no one with his demeanor. As it grew worse, he had to be reminded of everything multiple times, and not just as regards his duties; his posture and attire were deemed unacceptable by Carson on two days running.

And it didn't help that while Jimmy seemed genuinely chastised and embarrassed about being sent back up to his room to correct his appearance (an untidy hair here, an unpressed shirt there, e.t.c.) the actual punishment itself fell more upon the rest of the staff than on Jimmy himself, given that they were obliged to cover Jimmy's workload in addition to their own while he was prettying himself up.

On the third day Jimmy managed to make things even worse for himself as he became increasingly prone to fits of anger and ill temper.

It was initially restricted to a semi-acceptable social limit; Jimmy snapped at people when they interrupted him mid task, or huffed in agitation when he had to pick things up (or put them down again), with the odd murderous facial expression appearing now and again behind the dazed and hopelessly clumsy and forgetful exterior that had now become a fairly permanent feature.

It was hard for all concerned to believe that this was the man whose work ethic and skill had once made him, fairly irrefutably, the best candidate by far for First Footman.

The evening of the third day had Jimmy once again banished to his room after a fit of rage and spectacularly bad timing had him throwing a silver platter (with an infuriatingly stubborn tarnish) and polishing cloth at the wall in the servant's hall right as Carson walked in. After a stern verbal rebuking, that barely stopped short of a sharp physical clip round the ears, Jimmy was sent up to his room.

That had left Thomas and Carson to serve in the evening along with Alfred, which was a perfectly adequate arrangement but given the current focus of the household on Jimmy, his absence seemed that much more noticeable than Alfred's ever had during his trips away with Matthew. Thomas found himself dreading the next trip, fearful of the degree to which Alfred's sojourn into the Mancunian suburbs and outer villages would highlight Jimmy's increasing incompetence and unreliability.

Thankfully a series of requisitions on the Downton estate itself and the expected visit of Gregson (able to finally return to spend some time in the tranquility of Downton with his fiancé ahead of the wedding the following month) would keep Matthew, and consequently Alfred, at Downton for the next couple of weeks. By which time, Thomas dearly hoped, Jimmy would have gotten over his insomnia.

Because even if one discarded Jimmy's uncharacteristic clumsiness, the dark tinge around his eyes told damning tales of almost completely sleepless nights; much to the chagrin of Carson who had been deliberately releasing Jimmy from his duties earlier and earlier as the evenings passed.

And to top it all off, Jimmy wasn't speaking to anyone.

Nothing more than the bare minimum of essential speech required to get him through the days passed his lips, not that anyone downstairs was particularly affected by this. He had been more akin to a ghost than an occupant as far as the servant's hall was concerned even before the trial.

He especially avoided Thomas.

And Thomas returned the favor.

But Thomas still watched.

And Thomas worried.

The night that Jimmy was sent to his room without supper Thomas considered taking him up a tray of something. But it was very late by the time the staff were dismissed for the evening. So he discarded the idea, reasoning that Jimmy needed all the chance at sleep that he could get.

Thomas found himself regretting his wish for Jimmy to get some sleep when, on the fifth night, the staff in the attic were once again roused by anguished howls coming from Jimmy's room.

This time Jimmy was roused by the sound of Carson banging his bedroom door open before Thomas even made it to the room. Thomas joined the throng as Jimmy reached the end of offering around the same quiet apologies as before to the disgruntled men before slumping back on his pillow, wiping sweat away from his brow.

Not bothering to actually enter Jimmy's room, Thomas went to turn back to his own. He caught Carson giving him a probing but unreadable look as he did so, but was disinclined to care given the early hour and the nerve shredding properties of Jimmy's cries.

Essentially, as regards Jimmy, Thomas was at his wits end.

And he knew he wasn't the only one. And that was _extremely_ worrying.

He found himself willing to overlook every possessive, vengeful and disapproving urge in his body and soul as regards to Lord Anstruther and his connection to Jimmy if there was even a _chance_ that speaking with him might provide Jimmy with some sort of closure; some means to move on from whatever it was that had sent him sprawling.

Still, as heavy boot-falls echoed outside the servant's hall to herald Anstruther's arrival (fresh from his perfectly polite, if excruciatingly awkward, tea-break with the Crawleys) Thomas abruptly rescinded any approval he had previously given the idea, and fought the urge to dash out into the corridor and drag Anstruther out onto the gravel driveway by the scruff of his neck before Jimmy even had to see, let alone speak, to him. And a few sharp kicks for Tim's sake wouldn't go amiss either…


	68. Our Interest - Chapter 68

**Our Interest – Chapter 68**

Anstruther appeared in the doorway and surveyed the room with an air of poised grace, his manner of standing and ease of movement flowed almost balletically as he craned his neck to look past the astonished staff members to locate Jimmy.

While too plain of face to be considered handsome, the red sheen of his hair seemed far more striking than it had appeared in the gloom of the courtroom (much to Thomas's distaste).

The auburn colour of his hair coupled with his garish deep green suit put more than one occupant in the room in mind of a benevolent Yuletide spirit; an odd notion given that they were currently experiencing a fairly inoffensive and pleasant spring abounding with the usual gentle sun, small animals and fresh foliage. But it did have the subconscious effect of making 'the stranger' seem automatically familiar and personable, and therefore likeable to the majority of the room's occupants.

Thomas, naturally, wasn't one of them.

It was unfortunate that he was the highest ranking member of staff in the servant's hall at the time (Alfred having conveyed Anstruther downstairs, leaving Carson to serve the Crawleys, who had most likely moved on to something a little stronger than tea to calm their nerves) as that meant that Thomas was tasked with the highly unwelcome need to issue Jimmy with permission to convey Anstruther down the corridor to Carson's office. He did it as curtly as he could manage.

Anstruther smiled warmly as Jimmy rose to join him, almost inciting Thomas into the violence he had fantasised a moment ago.

Thomas watched Jimmy's expression carefully as he moved past him to the door; reading nothing but the sullen blankness that had become an almost permanent fixture of Jimmy's demeanor. He was a little surprised to see such a lack of reaction, either way, to Anstruther's presence.

Unknown to Thomas, Anstruther also found Jimmy's mood a little disquieting.

'What on earth's happened?' Said Anstruther, eyeing Jimmy with concern as the latter closed the door to Carson's office behind them. He quickly crossed back across the floor to Jimmy, who had lingered by the doorway instead of following him, to get a better look.

'I don't know what you mean.' Said Jimmy, jutting his nose defiantly into the air even as his posture betrayed him; curling into himself with his arms across his torso and his shoulders hunched over even as he attempted to project an air of disaffected normality.

'I mean you look as though someone's died.' Said Anstruther, raising a reproachful eyebrow at Jimmy's attempted nonchalance.

'Someone _has _died.' Jimmy retorted sourly after a pause.

Anstruther looked away for a moment to collect himself. He nodded slowly as he turned back to Jimmy. 'Yes…someone has.' He stopped again, staring at the floor, lost for a moment, before continuing. 'But while your concern for my mother always did you credit, I don't for one moment believe that this…' He indicated Jimmy's sour dullness. '…is on her account. And that you would speak so dismissively of her death in my presence only serves to highlight that there is something _very_ wrong with you.' He snapped at him.

'I'm sorry, My Lord.' Jimmy said quickly.

'Well…?'

'Just having a bad day. I'm fine. Really.' He said, attempting a smile.

'You forget…' Said Anstruther, taking another step closer to make it harder for Jimmy's eyes to stray elsewhere. '…I know what you mean when you say you're 'fine' and I've seen you 'fine'. This isn't fine, is it Jimmy?'

'No. No it's not.' Jimmy quietly conceded.

'Is there anything I can do to help?'

'No. There isn't.'

Anstruther gave a tiny sigh, and a slight shake of his head.

'Will you move away from me now, please?' Said Jimmy softly.

'Of course.' Anstruther said quickly, taking a few strides backwards before taking a moment to look behind to make sure there were no obstacles to trip over and finally coming to settle leaning up against the desk. 'I assure you I have no…' He paused awkwardly, tilting his head to one side and giving his upper lip a quick lick with his tongue. '…carnal designs in visiting you here today.' Jimmy nodded silently to indicate he believed him. 'In fact I don't see myself…doing anything of that nature for the foreseeable future. I mean…' He looked miserably at the floor. '…It's been hell...' Anstruther's voice broke painfully at the last word, but Jimmy was unable to offer any reaction beyond a few extra blinks, staying where he was over by the door. '…all these months of uncertainty, all the people put at risk on my account, having to move countries…and my mother…' Jimmy couldn't quite see from his position, but Anstruther certainly _sounded_ as though he was crying. 'If I hadn't had to get rid of you when the scandal first came out…' He trailed of shaking his head vigorously. 'You were so _good_ with her. She was getting so much better with you looking after her. And then I have to go and…_fuck_ it all up because I failed to conceive of a life which doesn't place pleasure as it's defining aspect.'

'The fault doesn't just lie with you.' Jimmy said quietly, staring awkwardly at the far end of the room.

'However one may argue the point…' Said Anstruther with a sigh, dabbing away the evidence of his brief break-down with a ostentatiously large handkerchief, disinclined to share more of his emotions with someone so clearly unable to engage with them on a human level (not that he had expected anything less than stoicism from Jimmy in the first place). '…this _is_ all my fault.'

'Well it's over now.' Jimmy offered.

Anstruther gave a shaky laugh. 'Yes…I still can't quite believe what you did. What _all_ of you did. That must have taken quite some organising!'

'It didn't actually.' Said Jimmy dully. 'I had no contact with the others…I didn't know they were planning that. Although I…I knew they wouldn't have been happy about being compelled to speak against you. So I suppose it shouldn't have been a surprise really.' He said with a shrug.

'Do you know if the Police have given them any trouble since then?'

'Like I said, I haven't had any contact with them.' Jimmy shrugged again. 'Mr Barrow saw Tim right before the trial, but other than that…'

'Mr Barrow?'

'He's…he's the Under Butler here. You saw him a moment ago.'

'The black haired man?' Said Anstruther with a suddenly sharp look on his face.

Jimmy nodded.

'Has he been here long?'

'What…_here_ here? As in Downton Abbey?' Said Jimmy with a frown.

'Yes.' Said Anstruther.

'Yes, he has been.' Said Jimmy. 'Near on ten years or so. He was a Footman once.'

'Indeed…' Said Anstruther slowly, his internal thought process going a mile a minute behind his eyes. He gave a brisk shake of his head to bring him back to the present conversation. 'Why was Mr Barrow visiting Timothy?'

Jimmy grimaced. 'I was…surprised…and upset…to see Tim's name on the list of witnesses, the list of the 'bad sort', shall we say. I worried he had fallen on hard times. And I always liked him, so I wanted to give him a little help. But I didn't have any money spare for this month, so I asked Mr Barrow to visit and give him some on my behalf.'

'That's rather good of this Mr Barrow, isn't it?' Said Anstruther carefully. 'I take it you were required to inform him of the particulars of your prior situation in order to have him do this?'

'Yes, he knows about me.'

'And he makes no trouble for you on that account?'

'Lord Grantham knows.' Said Jimmy simply. 'So there's little trouble Mr Barrow could make, not that he would.'

'Good God…I had worried that your involvement in the trial might hurt your chances of employment here even by association. But it would seem my fears were rather unfounded!' Said Anstruther in shock. Musing that it was one thing to entertain a fellow noble recently embroiled in unsubstantiated scandal, but quite another for Lord Grantham to knowingly employ a man of Jimmy's _type_. 'Well, I'm glad things are alright on that account.' Anstruther concluded, still blinking in astonishment. 'I don't suppose, for my own personal curiosity, that you would care to indulge me as to precisely how that came about?'

'It's a very long story.' Said Jimmy shortly.

'Right, of course.' Said Anstruther with a brisk nod.

'Have you really not been able to see any of the others since the trial?' Said Jimmy eventually to break the awkward silence that had fallen, a hint of accusation in his voice.

'I tried.' Anstruther said. 'And I'm sure you can appreciate the risk I took in visiting The Bellows given my recent close shave with the law...' He said defensively. 'But I was unable to find news of the whereabouts of any of them.'

'But Tim was_ living_ there when Mr Barrow visited.' Said Jimmy insistently. 'He was a lodger in one of the upstairs rooms.'

'Jimmy, I don't know what to tell you. He's not there now.'

Jimmy sighed and rested his head against the wood of the door.

'I think I'd best be going soon.' Said Anstruther quietly. 'I really just wanted to say thank you for what you did for me. And ask if there is anything I can do for you in return?'

'You might pay Mr Barrow back for the money he gave Tim.' Said Jimmy, equally softly. 'I won't be able to do it myself for a while.'

'Consider it done.' Said Anstruther with a smile, indicating for Jimmy to open the door. 'Please direct him to come and speak with me in here.'

'Oh, no!' Jimmy exclaimed, stopping halfway thorough opening the door. 'Just give it to me, and I'll pass it on.'

Anstruther raised an eyebrow.

'It's just…' Said Jimmy, opening the door fully but deliberately putting himself between Anstruther and the doorway. '…I don't it would be a good idea for you to speak to him directly.'

'Why…?' Said Anstruther with a pensive tilt of his head.

'He doesn't like you very much.' Said Jimmy eventually, grimacing apologetically.

'And why does this servant, that I have never met, _object _to me?' Said Anstruther darkly. But the darkness abruptly cleared from his eyes as his face lit up with realisation. 'Oh…'

'What?' Said Jimmy, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in the doorway.

'You…and this Mr Barrow?' Said Anstruther.

'I…' Jimmy couldn't come up with a response fast enough to stem the tide of Anstruther's epiphany.

'Oh Jimmy…' Said Anstruther with a grimace. 'I thought this was supposed to be you turning over a new leaf…' He indicated the room around them as a proxy for Downton Abbey as a whole. And yet you're still…' He stopped short of naming the deed. '…with a _servant_…and one who objects to you having provided services to others at that?'

'I wasn't…' Jimmy's cheeks coloured as he quickly glanced out of the open doorway to check no one was listening in. '…I'm not providing him with _services_.' He said briskly.

'But what else would _you_ be…' Anstruther frowned deeply puzzled.

Then he got it. 'No…YOU?'

Jimmy continued to fidget in the doorway, completely unwilling to meet Anstruther's gaze.

'YOU?!' Repeated Anstruther incredulously.

'It's broken up.' Said Jimmy gruffly to the floor. 'So there's no need to make a fuss.'

'My God…' Anstruther continued to stare at him in a manner highly suggesting that a fuss was not only appropriate but inevitable.

'Please.' Jimmy said desperately. 'It's no big thing. Certainly not _now_. So please just…I don't want to talk about it, alright?'

'Alright.' Anstruther said eventually, still looking at him in wonder. 'But do send Mr Barrow in. I should like to thank him for attending to Tim, when I could not, at any rate.' He said, slipping into the rarely used voice that made it absolutely clear that his words were to be taken as an order not a request.

Jimmy sighed defeatedly. 'I will.' He said, and turned to go.

'I doubt I will see you again.' Anstruther called to halt him before he could disappear into the corridor. 'I intend to return to France at my earliest convenience and I have no intention of returning. But know that I am grateful to you. And I do wish you all the best.'

'Thank you, My Lord.' Said Jimmy, lingering in the doorway only a moment longer before walking briskly away.

Eager to get the unavoidable unpleasantness over with as speedily as possible (not to mention escape to his room or the yard to take a moment to collect himself) Jimmy paced in double-time to the servant's hall to find Thomas.

Mercifully, he was still there. Jimmy didn't think his nerves would stand to having to scour the house for him.

Jimmy hesitated for a moment, unsure what to say. The situation wasn't helped by Thomas's stubborn reluctance to acknowledge that he had walked in the room. Thomas merely remained staring at the register on the lectern under the bells, pointedly ignoring him.

The few other members of staff in the hall watched the interaction between the two of them out of the corners of their eyes.

'Lord Anstruther asks that you join him in Mr Carson's office.' Said Jimmy in clipped tones after a few false starts.

'That's nice.' Said Thomas dismissively, without making any move to do so.

Jimmy watched Thomas continue to mark items off on the page for a few moments.

'What are you hanging about for?' Said Thomas coldly. 'Can't you see I'm busy?'

Jimmy glanced over his shoulder at the onlookers, dearly wishing they weren't there, as he stepped close to Thomas. 'This is an invitation from a _Lord_, Mr Barrow.' He whispered. 'And I don't like it any more than you do.'

Giving a heavy sigh, Thomas threw the pen down on the lectern with a clatter and swept past Jimmy without a word.

He entered Carson's office in a similarly brisk manner, stopping in the center of the room to stare down Anstruther, who had once again propped himself against Carson's desk.

'Yes?' He said shortly.

'Mr Barrow, I presume?' Said Anstruther with a wry smile and a slight nod of his head.

Thomas satisfied both the query and the necessity for polite formality given their respective social positions with a very terse bob of his head by way of a bow.

'I hear you were kind to an old employee of mine.' Said Anstruther. 'A Timothy Hall, I believe. I should like to compensate you for your troubles.' He held out his hand. 'So I'm giving you this.'

Thomas stared at the pack of bank-notes folded and rolled into a tight pack in Anstruther's fist, then back up at him, without moving.

Anstruther gave a small chuckle.

'I don't care what you do with this afterwards, Mr Barrow.' He said levelly. 'But you _will_ take it from my hand.'

The force of Anstruther's order, quietly spoken though it was, surprised Thomas to point of him actually taking a few steps forward to acquiesce; before rapidly coming back to his senses (and anger) and stopping.

'Very well…' Said Anstruther with a smile, taking a few steps forward himself. 'I shall meet you half-way.'

Thomas found himself frozen in place as Anstruther neatly reached to tuck the roll of bank-notes into his breast pocket. His skin absolutely crawled at the brief press of pressure at his chest as Anstruther did so, and yet he found himself unable to protest; more because he had a feeling that Anstruther's will was somehow stronger than his own on this particular matter, rather than the issues of refusing a request from a noble.

Mercifully, Anstruther immediately retreated back to his perch on the desk upon completing the task, his fingers not lingering a moment more than necessary.

Thomas glanced down. 'I didn't give him this much.' He said sourly.

'I never said you did.' Anstruther replied merrily.

Thomas glared at him.

'You don't like me very much, do you Mr Barrow?' Said Anstruther, still smiling.

'I don't like you at all.' Thomas said simply.

'Why?'

Thomas remained silent.

'You may speak freely.' Said Anstruther. 'I would very much like to know.'

'Do you not know already? You should.' Hissed Thomas. 'I think you're a nasty piece of work. A right bastard who uses people who have no other choice.'

'I've never forced anyone into my employ, Mr Barrow. And I think you would be hard pushed to argue that the danger of a back alleyway for a few pennies is preferable to a civilised drawing room for the sake of pounds.'

'I'd rather have a bloke in a back alleyway than one of you smarmy gits.' Thomas retorted.

'That's not what I've been given to believe…'

Thomas's eyes snapped back onto Anstruther's.

'I had a feeling it was you.' Said Anstruther softly.

'I don't know what you're implying…' Thomas began, his mouth suddenly bone dry.

'Yes you do.' Said Anstruther. 'Crowborough.'

Thomas's pulse began to hammer in his throat as his eyes widened.

'Relax, Mr Barrow.' Said Anstruther. 'I merely mean to perhaps suggest that you are not in a position to judge. Although I concede that an intimate familiarity with our mutual friend is a highly understandable reason to be skeptical of all such liaisons.'

Thomas bit his lip, looking down as he fought hard to regain control of his face.

'He talked about you a lot, you know.' Said Anstruther. 'Not by name, of course, but I shouldn't imagine there are many black-haired men of a certain persuasion that have graced the halls of Downton over the years, and certainly not with a face like yours.'

Thomas took in a shaky breath, still unable to reply.

'I know he died here…' Said Anstruther slowly. '…and I think it interesting that it should happen here, where you are…'

Thomas stopped breathing.

'…but I am of the opinion that almost every 'accident' happens for a reason…So I shall say no more.'

Thomas gave a shaky laugh, thrown by a sense of relief, then abruptly returning to hating Anstruther even more for having made him feel in any way beholden to him.

'Anyway…' Said Anstruther. '…I stand by my original point; I provided a far safer environment for the boys to ply their trade…'

'Only on your terms.' Thomas muttered.

'…and in Jimmy's case, I removed him from the streets entirely. I think you should thank me, personally. Do you have any idea how short a window of time there is to help pull someone in his situation back from the brink of ruin?'

'I'd happily take you for a good Samaritan, getting him off the streets and all that…' Said Thomas scathingly. '…if you didn't force him to fuck you for the _priviledge_ of being rescued.'

'I forced NOTHING, Mr Barrow.' Said Anstruther, his eyes flashing with an anger that seemed entirely out of place on his pleasant face. 'I am sorry to have to disillusion you as regards someone you have clearly had an attachment to, but it was Jimmy, not I, that perpetuated the arrangement.'

'What…?' Thomas's voice came out much quieter than he had hoped.

'Multiple times I made it clear to Jimmy that services of that nature were not required, that it would no way impact on his employment as Footman, but time and time again…' Anstruther didn't finish the sentence, merely twirling a hand in the air to indicate the large number of ways in which Jimmy 'politely declined' his offer. 'Truth be told, Mr Barrow, there were times when he seemed far more eager than I.'

'You're lying.'

'I'm not.'

And Thomas had a horrible instinct that he was telling the truth.

'So…the two of you were…_together_…then? He _did_ love you?' Said Thomas slowly.

'Absolutely not!' Exclaimed Anstruther. 'I may have been the most regular…user…as his direct employer, but I can assure you the same was true of his interactions with the rest of my compatriots. Although most of them were generally eager enough to allow his strange compulsion towards shame to pass unnoticed.'

'Compulsion towards _shame_?' Said Thomas incredulously.

'Well I'm not sure how else one can explain such a situation.' Said Anstruther, raising his hands in a gesture of defeat. 'I can only assure you that neither money nor necessity is what drives him.'

'Oh Jesus…' Thomas took a step back, raising both hands to cover his eyes and press at his temples to sooth the sudden onset of a pounding headache. '...what the…?' He said to no one in particular.

Anstruther stayed quiet, watching him until his face reappeared from behind his fingers.

'What am I supposed to do?' Said Thomas, fixating the question on Anstruther despite its depressingly rhetorical nature.

'In what sense, Mr Barrow?' Said Anstruther, evidently willing to play along.

'About Jimmy.' Said Thomas, swallowing heavily. 'What am I supposed to do about Jimmy?'

'What happened between you?' Said Anstruther gently.

'I don't bloody know!' Said Thomas, tangling a hand in his hair in an effort to dispel the pain in his head with yet more pain. 'Everything was…it was perfect. And it took _so long_ for us to get there. And now…now he doesn't have the time of day for me, and I've given up asking for it.'

'Well what _happened_?' Said Anstruther.

'Your fucking trial, that's what happened.' Said Thomas sourly.

Anstruther took a deep breath. 'If that is the case…then I am exceedingly sorry.' He said sadly. 'But I would hope that now the matter is concluded perhaps you might be able to return to how you were…If my little histrionics regarding Jimmy's character haven't put you off, of course.' Anstruther added with a nervous laugh. 'I mean…what I do I know anyway?' He said quickly.

'That's the problem…' Said Thomas. 'Not what you said…' He quickly clarified, as Anstruther looked suddenly panicked (Thomas's mind having temporarily glossed over Anstruther's revelation with hysterical laughter) '…but that it _hasn't _got better. If anything he's got worse since the trial.' Thomas rubbed at his eyes. 'And I was…I suppose I was hoping that you were the answer to why.'

'I see…' Said Anstruther in an utterly deadpan voice. 'Well I am sorry that I didn't turn out to be a sadistic rapist for the sake of your relationship.'

Thomas actually found himself laughing loudly at that.

Because, really, the situation had gone so far beyond a joke that it _was_ actually funny. Desperately so.

'I assure you I left him as good as I found him.' Anstruther added, the twist of his lips betraying just what he thought of Jimmy's 'state'.

'Do you really have no idea of what happened to him?' Said Thomas pleadingly, dignity and anger both having equally flown from his mind.

'Before he came to me? No. It wasn't my place to ask.'

Thomas growled in frustration, taking a few steps to the side to stare at the wall in an effort to hide the tears that were threatening to escape down his face. 'Is there nothing you can tell me?' He said shakily.

'Mr Barrow, I am of the opinion that there is no emotion that Jimmy can't either fake or conceal.' Said Anstruther dismissively. 'So I fail to see how you think I could…' He stopped abruptly.

'What?' Said Thomas.

'There was one time…one time only…that he got himself into a bad way…' Said Anstruther tentatively.

'Tell me.'

Anstruther cleared his throat before continuing. 'Well…I was helping him get dressed…' Anstruther glanced towards Thomas who, as he predicted, glowered at that particular story setting. '…into this _lovely_ oriental coat. And he looked marvelous in it…although the colour was a bit wrong for him, but still…'

'While we're young!' Thomas cut in.

'Right, of course.' Said Anstruther. 'Anyway…he turned, saw himself in the mirror, and just went mad… I can't think of any other way to describe it! He started pulling at the coat, couldn't get it off fast enough. In the end I ripped it off of him…and after that he just sat there on the floor crying. So I sent him to bed.'

For a while Anstruther stayed staring at Thomas's impossibly deep frown and pensive expression.

'Mr Barrow?'

'This coat…' Said Thomas. '…what did it look like?'

'Oh…' Said Anstruther, a little thrown by _that_ being the question Thomas thought most pertinent to the situation. 'It was silk, buttoned and tied in at the waist, quite long…'

'Like a dress?'

Anstruther blinked. 'I suppose…yes.'

Thomas nodded. 'I know this is useless before I even say it…but did you _ask_ him why he reacted like that?'

'Of course I did.' Said Anstruther curtly. 'He wasn't inclined to answer.'

Thomas nodded again. 'Of course.' He muttered darkly before raising his voice to a more polite and noncommittal tone to neutrally end their discussion. 'Well thank you for your time…My Lord.' He quickly added upon remembering with whom he was speaking.

'You're quite welcome, Mr Barrow.' Said Anstruther, looking almost as dazed as Thomas as he allowed himself to be led to the door. 'I don't envy you, you know.' He said softly to Thomas before taking his leave.

As he watched Anstruther walk away, heading back up the stairs to civilization, Thomas decided he had earned himself a cigarette before returning to the day's tasks.

Stepping out into the yard, not bothering to don his hat or coat, he found the day every bit as pleasant on the outside as it had looked from the windows on the inside.

He also found Jimmy. Sitting at the table, alone.

Rolling his eyes, _knowing_ it was pointless, Thomas walked slowly over and took a seat on the bench opposite, depositing his cigarette packet and lighter on the table in front of him.

He pulled a cigarette out of the packet.

Jimmy left before he even succeeded in lighting it.


	69. Our Interest - Chapter 69

**Our Interest – Chapter 69**

Thomas entered Mr Carson's office with a distinct feeling of impending doom when he was once again called in three days later (this time by the room's rightful owner) for a 'discussion' of an unspecified subject. Which, those days, could only mean one thing.

'You wanted to see me Mr Carson?' Said Thomas, finding both Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes seated by the side of the desk, small sherry glasses in hand. He was a little surprised at that, although it didn't take him long to register that despite the lingering daylight it was in fact quite late in the evening and therefore a perfectly appropriate drinking hour. 'Should I…come back later?' He said awkwardly.

'No no.' Said Carson. 'Come and join us.' He motioned for Thomas to bring over the third wooden chair that still stood at the side of the room. Thomas did so, his eyebrows shooting up as Mr Carson proceeded to pour a third glass of sherry.

_God…this MUST be bad…_

'I believe we need to talk, Mr Barrow, about...'

_Jimmy_

'Mr Gregson.'

_Oh…_

'As you know…' Mr Carson continued. '…he will be visiting with us shortly, and I thought it pertinent to have arrangements in place for his comfort.' He took a sip of his drink and looked to Mrs Hughes for support before adding. 'And I believe it correct that _you_ should act as Valet to him during his stay, given that he still does not have one of his own.'

'But James looked after him the last two times.' Said Thomas, fiddling with the glass in his hands, knowing precisely how the discussion was going to go but compelled to have it anyway. 'Surely it would be best to have consistency?'

Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes exchanged a look. Thomas could easily read the silent conversation passing between them, and the concluding 'I think you'll find that the male staffing issues in this regard are under YOUR remit' assertion from Mrs Hughes that had Carson once again awkwardly addressing him.

'Mr Barrow…' Carson began with a sigh. '…I think we both know that James is currently…failing…to adequately carry out his tasks as Second Footman…'

'Well you are still making him fill in for Alfred a lot of the time as well.' Thomas cut in defensively.

'True.' Carson said sternly. 'But the issue is not with workload, Mr Barrow. I have repeatedly released James from his tasks early this past week, I allowed him the entire day off yesterday to rest, in fact, at the expense of _our_ workloads…and yet he still continues to underperform. We cannot ignore the issue any longer.'

'Have you put him up to this?' Said Thomas darkly, turning towards Mrs Hughes.

'I have not, Mr Barrow.' She said, speaking a little mournfully. 'In addition to Mr Carson releasing James from some of his duties, I have tried to do my part as well.' She sighed, staring down at her glass a moment before continuing. 'I was…unaware…before that he was being ill-treated by other members of staff…'

'What?' Said Thomas.

'…he was being bullied, quite badly in fact from what I saw over the couple of days I watched.'

'I thought I'd stopped that…' Thomas said quietly.

'Evidently not.' Said Mrs Hughes. 'But it has stopped now, mark my words.' The fiery look in her eyes had Thomas utterly convinced she spoke the truth. 'Yet still…' She emulated Carson in her manner of taking a small sip of drink to postpone vocalizing an unwelcome assertion. '…he continues to be sour and disagreeable.' Thomas had to give her credit for looking quite so upset about it as she spoke, but the end result was the same.

'What are you both trying to say?'

Another look passed between Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes.

'The truth of the matter is, Mr Barrow…' Said Carson, speaking in his booming authoritative voice but sounding _very _awkward as he did so. '…that we were given to believe that James's work and demeanor would improve upon completion of the trial. This has not happened. So now…' He swallowed another sip of sherry. '…we need to discuss the next step.'

'What's that then?' Said Thomas, tensing as though to physically brace himself.

He must have been shaking too, because Mrs Hughes's hand unexpectedly found it's way to his knee.

'To speak with you, Mr Barrow.' She said soothingly. 'To see if we can come up with some solution amongst ourselves.'

Clearing his throat gruffly Carson nodded his agreement. 'Now, Mr Barrow, the first thing we need to do is put a stop to the nightmares…We simply cannot have him repeatedly awakening the entire corridor. And I suspect the majority of his current problems with attention span and coordination stem from his inability or unwillingness to sleep. A thought that was had…' Said Carson, clearly uncomfortable and unwilling to own up to whom had come up with the idea. '…was that perhaps you might...' Carson took a telling sip of sherry. 'That is to say, perhaps your bed, might be moved into James's room for the time being. That perhaps if the two of you were able to sleep nearby it might provide something of a calming effect…?'

Under any other circumstances Thomas would have greeted a similarly themed suggestion with glee or disbelief. Under the current situation, he just felt numb and hopeless.

'That won't do it.' Said Thomas softly, gratefully taking a sip of sherry before continuing. 'He won't have me anywhere near him these days.'

'Oh…' Said Carson. 'Goodness.' Said Mrs Hughes. The true gravity of the breakdown between Thomas and Jimmy suddenly realised at Thomas having turned down such an offer.

'Well…' Said Mrs Hughes, thrown but clearly eager to move on from that particular dead-end. '…the other thing is to find out the root cause of this.'

'Well wouldn't that be something.' Said Thomas sarcastically. 'Wish I'd thought of that.' He said, his mood sufficiently low at the notion of having had to deny himself the chance of sleeping next to Jimmy to inject a little suicidal impertinence into the discussion.

'Mr Barrow you will apologise THIS INSTANT.' Said Carson. 'And we will have no more of that!'

'I beg your pardon, Mrs Hughes.' Said Thomas without missing a beat. The apology was insincere, but both Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes seemed inclined to accept it (something which made Thomas even more nervous about the direction the discussion was taking).

'Do you have any notion at all as to what has led to James's downturn?' Mrs Hughes prompted gently.

'I thought…' Thomas said slowly. 'I _thought_ it was about the trial.'

'But…?'

'I don't know.' Thomas continued. 'Now…after speaking with Anstruther…and after the way Jimmy's been acting…I'm just not so sure.' He licked the last taste of sherry from his lips as he reached over to sit his glass down on the desk, waving his hand to refuse another helping as Carson went to refill the glass. 'I wonder…' He said reluctantly. '…if it might have started before that.'

'And what makes you say that, Mr Barrow?' Said Mrs Hughes gently.

Thomas sighed and rubbed at his mouth. 'There was…I mean to say, I noticed…perhaps…' He said very tentatively, and extremely reluctantly, as though vocalizing the thought might somehow make it's truth irrefutable. '…there was something a bit…off…about him during our time in Whitby.'

'When you went on your trip together?' Said Mr Carson.

'Yes.' Said Thomas quietly, his mind churning through his recollection of the visit and uncomfortably settling on the disparity between their lovemaking on the first night and the second…and that brief, ever so brief, moment of strangeness when a naked Jimmy had unexpectedly kissed him in the sand after returning from swimming.

'Well?' Said Mrs Hughes, far too abruptly for Thomas's muddled and confused thoughts to catch up. 'What about it? What happened?'

Thomas shook his head. 'I'm not sure.' He said, and it was true. He had no idea. But his stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch at even the _possibility_ that he might unknowingly be even partially responsible for Jimmy's slow melt-down.

'That's not very helpful, Mr Barrow.' Said Mrs Hughes.

'Why are you asking me not him?' Said Thomas abruptly, suddenly feeling highly defensive and very much longing to leave the discussion. 'He's the one that's…going wrong. Why not ask _him_?'

'We have tried, Mr Barrow.' Said Mr Carson sternly. 'We have both tried.' He added, glancing across at Mrs Hughes.

'I didn't know that.' Said Thomas quietly. 'But again…doesn't that go to show how little we speak now? He doesn't tell me _anything_ anymore.' Angry, frustrated and uncomfortably aware that tears were imminent he jumped up out of his chair, scraping it loudly across the floor as he did so, and went to make his way to the door.

'Mr Barrow!' Called Mr Carson.

Thomas decided at that moment he could happily go through the rest of his life without ever hearing the words 'Mr Barrow' again.

'A solution _must _be found.' Said Carson firmly, neglecting to add the 'Mr Barrow' as though party to Thomas's inner monologue.

'Or what?' Said Thomas shortly, turning to stare challengingly at Carson despite the surplus of water in his eyes.

Mrs Hughes looked between the two of them for a moment before gently asserting. 'Let's leave this for the present…we will cross that bridge when we come to it.'

Mr Carson immediately turned to her with an expression that made it very clear that he was (and had been for some time) of the opinion that the bridge had already been reached, but shrank back at her insistent look of warning.

'We will leave this for now.' He grudgingly agreed. 'Goodnight, Mr Barrow.'

Thomas was out of the office like a shot.

He lay awake in bed for a long time that night, tempted to relive every minute detail of the trip to Whitby again in his mind (and even more powerfully tempted to storm into Jimmy's room and question him about each and every one of the aforementioned details) but something…predominantly fear, if he was honest…ultimately prevented him from doing so.

He winced as the sounds of Jimmy's shouts echoed down the corridor at a bit past three o'clock in the morning, but he didn't bother to get out of bed. He wasn't sure if anyone did actually. But the noise eventually stopped.

The arrival of Gregson this time was greeted in a manner that no guest had ever been received to Downton before; with both pomp and ceremony (staff lining the driveway in their best day-wear almost half an hour before the car swept up the road) but also the informality that came with genuine warmth and celebration. Almost every face displayed some sort of pleasure as he emerged from the vehicle. And it would have taken a heart of stone indeed for anybody to be wholly unaffected by the sight of Edith and he, two people most unaccustomed to attention or celebration in their honor, greeting one another looking every bit as unable to believe their good fortune at the look of adoration in the other's eyes as they had done all those weeks ago when the engagement had been first made.

Gregson was eagerly ushered inside the house.

With talk of London, weddings and pure bliss echoing in their ears as the Crawleys walked away, Thomas and the others set about the less pleasant task of off-loading the luggage; deliberately leaving the lighter bags for Jimmy as he enlisted Alfred to help him up the stairs with the largest trunk.

Later that evening Thomas attended the task of getting Gregson ready for dinner, resisting the urge to glance continually at the clock as he knew he was needed to serve as well that evening given that the entire extended family would be present.

'I am much obliged to you, Mr Barrow.' Said Gregson pleasantly, evidently not noticing Thomas's inattentiveness.

Thomas gave him a bow as he went to re-hang the clothes that didn't require washing or pressing, having gotten Gregson into his formal evening wear with the minimum of fuss.

'But I do wonder…' Said Gregson slowly. 'And this isn't in any way a comment on your skills, Mr Barrow, which are excellent…but what ever happened to that blonde chap who attended me before? I thought I saw him down by the car when I arrived?'

Thomas was thankful he had his head buried in the wardrobe so that he could pull a face without Gregson seeing.

'You did, sir.' Said Thomas, resetting his face and turning around. 'But he's…he's having to cover a lot of the duties of our First Footman Alfred at present, so Mr Carson thought it best that I attend you.' Lied Thomas, although he supposed it was only a half-lie, trusting that Gregson was not sufficiently cultured to realise that a member of staff would never usually discuss staffing problems in the presence of a guest.

'Oh, right.' Said Gregson, beginning to attempt to knot his tie. 'That is a shame; I understand it is a rather big thing for a Footman to have the chance to act as Valet.'

'It is.' Thomas said softly, stepping in to wrest Gregson's tie from his fingers to do it up himself, sparing Gregson the indignity of having to ask.

'And I really didn't mind that he was too ill to attend me the last evening I was here.' Said Gregson.

'I'm sure, sir.' Said Thomas with a shaky smile as he stepped back to retrieve the brush from the bureau, indicating for Gregson to turn around so that he could attend to his shoulders. 'It's nothing to do with that.' He continued. 'We are just having a bit of a time with staffing ever since Mr Molesley had to enter the convalescent home with his bad breathing. And Alfred has had to be both Valet and Footman since.'

'I see.' Said Gregson.

'Right.' Said Thomas briskly, setting the brush back down again and surveying his handiwork. 'I'd say you're all set, sir.'

'Good. Marvelous.' Gregson said, looking at himself in the floor-length mirror. He seemed strangely hesitant all of a sudden.

Briefly closing his eyes in frustration, with a horrible feeling that this was going to make him late back to the kitchens to begin the dinner service, Thomas asked gently. 'What is it, sir?'

'Well it's just…' Gregson sighed. '…I sometimes wonder if I'm doing the right thing, for Edith, I mean.'

_Oh don't you bloody DARE!_

'How so, sir?'

'She's such a…such a wonderful woman…Lady…and I wonder if she doesn't perhaps deserve better than a second-hand husband.' He said grimly. 'She deserves someone as young, vibrant and fresh as she, someone who can experience the world _with _her rather than simply…'

Thomas knew there was no danger in Gregson's sentiment, the words were tentative, expressing a desperate need for reassurance rather than heralding an imminent escape bid. Thomas had no doubt that Gregson's devotion to Edith would hold up against such sentiments.

But given the events of the past few weeks, Thomas found himself utterly unable to abide Gregson's essentially harmless self-doubts.

'Look at it another way, sir.' Said Thomas, speaking breezily but unable to completely keep the sharpness out of his voice. 'Whatever may be spoiled for the Lady Edith by your prior attachment to another woman, so you not think you would be doing her more harm by denying her the chance to be with you at all when she so dearly wants to?'

Gregson blinked at the emotion behind Thomas's words, and found himself heading for the dining room that evening emboldened by the evidence of how vigorously the household believed in his relationship with Edith.

Thomas, on the other hand, stalked his way back downstairs to the kitchens in a foul mood. And late.

And destined to be later still.

As he made his way to the bottom of the stairs he was just in time to see Alfred and Jimmy heading along to the kitchens.

Without taking a moment to think Thomas grabbed at Jimmy's arm, pulling him backwards the way he had come and around the corner, dragging them both into the linen closet, and closing the door.

He did this so quickly and silently that Alfred was left highly confused to look around and suddenly find himself alone in the corridor a moment later.

'What the bleeding hell do you think you're doing!?' Jimmy demanded of Thomas, having gotten over his initial shock. The flash of anger in his eyes was discernible even in the partial light of the closet, lit only by cracks of light falling through the gaps in the planks of wood in the door.

'I love you.' Said Thomas abruptly, surprising both himself and Jimmy into a very poignant silence. 'I just wanted to make sure you knew that.' He added softly.

Jimmy gave a small nod, looking highly uncomfortable. 'I know.'

'And…?' Thomas prompted in the face of Jimmy's reluctant silence. 'What about _me_, Jimmy?'

'You know how much I care about you. You know how much I love you.' Jimmy whispered dejectedly to the floor, too thrown and fatigued for either denial or defense, almost too quietly for Thomas to hear.

The shaky exhale or relief as Thomas let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding had Jimmy almost wanting to cry.

'Then for Christ's sake what is the problem here?' Said Thomas gently, raising a hand to grasp Jimmy's shoulder.

'Don't.' Said Jimmy shortly, glaring at Thomas's hand as it hovered just above his shoulder, lit by a beam of stark light filtered through a crack in the door.

Thomas withdrew his hand.

'Jimmy, was it me?' He said in a small voice. 'Did I do something wrong…while we were in Whitby?' He bit nervously at his tongue as Jimmy proceeded to give the question far too much thought for his liking.

'No.' Jimmy eventually said. 'It was nothing you did.'

Thomas's relief was tinged with discomfort at the awkward confirmation Jimmy's response provided.

'But I'm right though, aren't I?' Thomas said carefully. 'Something was wrong before the business of the trial. Something was wrong in Whitby.'

'No. It's not like that. It was…' Jimmy's voice gave out a little. '…It was lovely there, with you.' He hung his head. 'I'm sorry I spoiled it.'

'Spoiled it?' Said Thomas in confusion.

The two of them were suddenly blinded by white light as the door to the closet was thrown open to reveal an astonished Gill.

'Oh my, what on earth…?' She exclaimed, clutching at her chest, clearly considering if running away down the corridor would be proper under such circumstances.

'MR BARROW!?' Carson's booming call sounded from around the corner, suddenly reminding both Jimmy and Thomas of the dinner they were now both horrendously late to serve.

'Shit!' Thomas mumbled, as he and Jimmy exchanged a fearful look before bolting past Gill and back towards the kitchens.

'Where have you been?' Carson demanded angrily, nostrils flaring as Thomas appeared in the doorway. Carson's eyes widened as Jimmy appeared behind Thomas, but he decided that there definitely wasn't time to deal with that particular development.

'Sorry, Mr Carson.' Thomas and Jimmy both chorused by way of inadequate reply.

'Well it's a good thing the menu cards weren't put out on time! Otherwise they would be expecting HOT soup!' Exclaimed Mrs Patmore as she motioned for Jimmy to retrieve the large bowl of tomato soup from the table and follow Alfred upstairs. 'If anyone asks…' She said to Mr Carson. '….you're to tell them that it's Gazpacho! Daisy…' She continued, throw some more sprigs of that…' She indicated the herbs bundled at the side of the table. '…onto the top to make it look more convincing.'

Thomas allowed himself to relax a little as he walked up the stairs next to Carson, with Jimmy trailing behind, to join Alfred by the dining room; in the grand scheme of things, serving cold tomato soup on a hot day was hardly a crisis, and the family had clearly been enjoying their pre-dinner conversation to such a degree that they had barely all taken their seats by the time the dinner was ready to serve anyway.

Alfred and Jimmy moved into position as Carson readied himself to announce the courses to the assembled diners, while Thomas attended to the glasses which required a little topping up.

No one was quite sure what happened at that point, least of all Jimmy himself (who momentarily found the room swimming before his eyes), but a few seconds later, by horrible chance, both the Dowager and Gregson beside her were drenched in the bright orangey-red soup (and bits of herb) as Jimmy missed his footing and stumbled; saving himself but not the serving dish.

There was a moment of intense panic for all concerned until Thomas remembered that the soup was in fact cold, and quickly informed the diners that no injury should result. But it _was_ a catastrophe nonetheless. And for a moment no one was quite sure what to do.

Jimmy moved first, dropping to his knees to collect up the serving dish and spoon, looking haunted. He was immediately unceremoniously dragged to his feet as Carson pulled him out of the room with a firm grip on his collar.

Staring after the two of them for a moment, intensely fearful for Jimmy, Thomas forced himself to turn his attention back to the matter at hand. The most pressing matter was the certainty that both the Dowager and Gregson would require a clean-up and a change of clothing.

Thomas quickly rang the bell, ready to instruct whoever appeared that the ladies maids should assemble ready to attend the Dowager, and instructed Alfred to convey the Crawleys back to the drawing room for more drinks as he indicated for Gregson to rise and follow him back to his room (having mopped up the worst of the goop from his face and lap with a serviette).

Before they could all follow Thomas's instruction, a loud thump in the corridor outside drew the attention of everyone in the room.

The side door to the dining room tentatively re-opened.

'Mr Lord…' Said Carson sheepishly. '…might I be permitted to call Dr Clarkson? It would appear James is…' He didn't need to finish as the eyes of the room's occupants suddenly widened at the sight of the side of Jimmy's head, peeking out from behind the cabinet, lying motionless on the hallway rug.

'Jimmy!' Exclaimed Thomas, Gregson temporarily forgotten. He ran over to the door.

'Of course, Mr Carson. Summon Dr Clarkson directly.' Said Robert.

'Wait, no!' Shouted Thomas, wheeling around on his heel to stare back at him. 'Not Clarkson. Clarkson _hates_ him! And me!'

'Calm your hysterics, Mr Barrow.' Said Robert firmly. 'Matters of personal taste do not come in to the practice of medicine.'

'You _know_ that's not true!' Thomas shouted back.

'Mr Barrow!' Carson barked at him. 'This is not the time or the place!' He said, looking apologetically around at the assembled family (and soon to be family) members who stood watching and listening in various degrees of shock (and discomfort).

'But…'

'You will kindly attend to Mr Gregson.' Said Carson firmly. And that was final.


	70. Our Interest - Chapter 70

**Our Interest- Chapter 70**

Thomas didn't like it.

He didn't like what had happened at dinner. He didn't like that Jimmy was sick. He didn't like that Clarkson had been called.

And he especially didn't like that Clarkson was currently behind the door, examining Jimmy, while he was compelled to wait the other side of it.

Glaring across at Carson, who lingered both to be the first to hear any news and to ensure Thomas complied with his strict instructions to stay outside the bedroom while the doctor was working, Thomas agitatedly bit off small slithers of skin from the inside of his cheek as he waited impatiently.

He detested Clarkson, and couldn't think of a man he trusted less with Jimmy's welfare. Yet his efforts to insist upon being allowed to remain in the room, ostensibly to 'help' with the examination (which under the current circumstances would largely involve manhandling a now conscious and highly noncompliant Jimmy) were met with such vigorous objections on the part of both Jimmy and Clarkson that Thomas was banished to the corridor outside; Alfred being drafted in to restrain Jimmy should the combined efforts of the nurse and Clarkson prove ineffective.

Thomas grudgingly conceded that Alfred was most likely the best person for the job besides himself, but uncomfortably mused over the fact that he hadn't really seen Jimmy and Alfred share anything resembling a conversation for quite some time either. Still, Alfred's presence in the room resulted in a relatively less agitated Jimmy, although not one inclined towards being prodded about by anyone…let alone the loathsome and disdainful Clarkson.

But Thomas knew that much as he loathed the situation, there was really no choice other than compliance with Lord Grantham's expressed wishes. And his wishes were for Clarkson to establish what, if anything, was physically wrong with Jimmy.

Thomas wasn't sure whether he wanted that to turn out to be the case or not.

He glanced up immediately as the door opened.

'Mr Carson…' Said Clarkson, closing the door behind him, presumably to leave Alfred and the nurse to perform any required readjustments or clean-up. '…I am ready to report to Lord Grantham.' He said, without sparing a glance for Thomas.

Thomas cursed Clarkson for getting his words in first, making it so that neither he or Mr Carson could demand to know the conclusion without sounding impertinent before conveying him to Lord Grantham.

Carson, however, surprised him. 'And what is the diagnosis?' Said Mr Carson, unshaken by Clarkson's attitude.

'I believe it best that my conclusions be discussed directly with Lord Grantham.' Said Clarkson firmly.

Thomas bit his lip, silently thanking Carson for trying and simultaneously wanting to shove Clarkson's face into the opposite wall.

'Very well…' Said Carson. '…Mr Barrow and I will convey you to him directly.' He turned abruptly and headed off before Clarkson could protest, save to shoot a dark look in Thomas's direction, before they moved to follow him.

The three of them entered the library as an awkward and reluctant bunch.

'Ah, Dr Clarkson, I trust you have some news for me?' Said Robert, moving to make Clarkson a drink despite the presence of both a Butler and Under Butler idle in the room at the time.

'In a manner of speaking.' Said Clarkson. 'I should be grateful to be able to inform your Lordship as to James's condition…' He glanced pointedly over his shoulder at Carson and Thomas, leaving the final phrase 'in private' unspoken but loud and clear all the same.

'Your findings will no doubt have implications for Mr Carson and Mr Barrow as much as I.' Said Robert levelly. 'So I believe it appropriate that they should also be informed.' He motioned for Clarkson to sit on the sofa, taking the seat opposite him. He didn't go so far as to invite Thomas and Carson to join them, but the message that they were at leave to remain in the room and hear what the doctor had to say rang out loud and clear; and was much appreciated by both, albeit for different reasons.

'Well…' Began Clarkson, not bothering to hide his disdain at Thomas's presence, and more than a little miffed that Lord Grantham had insisted on Carson remaining as well despite his clear wish to the contrary. '…my conclusion is that there is nothing physically wrong with James…'

'Right...' Said Robert, highly dubiously.

'I believe all his current symptoms can be ascribed to lack of sleep.' Said Clarkson with a slight shrug. 'Although…' He paused, glancing over his shoulder nervously to check how far away Thomas was standing.

'You may speak freely in the presence of Mr Barrow.' Said Robert, fixing Thomas with an unflinching gaze. 'Mr Barrow appreciates your professional integrity, and the favor being done him by his being allowed to be here, and as such will NOT react impudently to any professional opinion you wish to share. Isn't that correct, Mr Barrow?'

Depends on your definition of 'professional' opinion…

'Yes, Mr Lord.' Said Thomas quickly, his pulse racing at the sight of the troubled expression on Clarkson's face; and expression which could only herald unwelcome news.

'I believe…' Clarkson said slowly. '…that mentally speaking, James is not currently able to function as befits a person in normal society.'

Thomas stared blankly.

'What do you mean, Dr Clarkson?' Said Robert gently, with a worried glance over at Thomas.

'I mean, based on what I have been told and what I have observed today, James is currently in the grip of some kind of mental trauma that is preventing him from sleeping, and consequently impeding his ability to perform even the most basic daily tasks. And this will only get worse unless treated.'

'And…' Robert watched Thomas _very _carefully. '…what treatment would you suggest?'

'As a first step I would suggest his removal to an institution specializing in such cases of mental impairment. Then following observation, perhaps a suitable treatment may be found...'

'An _institution_?' Thomas cut in. 'You mean a mad-house, don't you?' He said incredulously.

'Mr Barrow…' Said Robert in a low voice.

'That is my professional opinion.' Said Clarkson simply.

'And we do of course respect that, but…' Robert began.

'Your professional opinion is that _anyone_ like us should be in a mad-house!' Retorted Thomas, glowering darkly at Clarkson.

'And there are many who would agree with me.' Clarkson bit back, causing Thomas to take a step back and roll his eyes heavenwards with an expression of bitter exasperation. 'But in this particular situation, I can assure you that my opinion of your…condition…is not the primary factor. The irrefutable truth is that James needs care that this household is ill equipped to provide.'

'But you _know_ he won't get better there!' Thomas said desperately, looking to Robert, dearly hoping that he was disinclined to take Clarkson's advice at face-value. 'People never come out of those places!'

'He will receive the treatment he _needs_.' Countered Clarkson.

'If I may…' Robert shouted abruptly to put an end to Clarkson and Thomas's back and forth. '…I should like to enquire…' He said, perfectly politely, to Clarkson. '…if there is an alternative course of action you could advise for the present?'

Thomas held his breath, but wasn't particularly hopeful.

Clarkson sighed. 'I could provide a sedative…' He said defeatedly. '…to be administered to James at night to help him sleep. It may prove to be the case that a few nights of uninterrupted sleep might be just the thing to get him back on track…' He said, not sounding the least bit convinced. 'But this would only be a temporary solution.' He emphasized, not that Thomas needed to be told of the dangers of sleep inducing drugs. 'And if there is a true reason why James is unable to sleep it will likely provide very little relief in the long run, unless you wish to risk making him reliant on such assistance in order to sleep at all.'

'Then that is what we will try.' Said Robert gently. 'Thank you for your time Dr Clarkson, if you could please see that the necessary paraphernalia is passed on to Mrs Hughes before you leave…' He instructed, giving Clarkson's hand a brisk shake. '…I need to have a word with Mr Barrow and Mr Carson.'

Clarkson bowed and left, looking highly perturbed to have been dismissed ahead of the staff.

'Thomas…' Said Robert.

Thomas noted the use of his first name and the sight of Robert moving back over to the drinks stand to make _him_ a drink with a feeling of alarm.

'…does James have any family nearby? Any relatives that might be called upon?' Said Robert, pressing the drinks glass into Thomas's hand when the latter proved too stunned to take it.

'No.' Said Thomas honestly. 'His parents are dead, and there are no brothers and sisters to speak of…'

'What about friends outside of Downton?' Said Robert, motioning for Thomas and Carson to come and sit on the sofa, but Thomas was quite rooted to the spot.

'No one…' Said Thomas, shaking his head sadly and desperately hoping that Robert's thoughts were not taking the direction they seemed to be taking. '…just some army Captain he lived with for a time after the war…but he threw him out years ago.' Thomas said miserably.

'That is unfortunate.' Said Robert. 'Are you _sure_ James couldn't return to this 'Captain' friend's house?'

'Are you _seriously_ thinking of sending Jimmy away from Downton?' Said Thomas, too incensed to care about the finer points of 'Jimmy' as opposed to 'James'. 'Now? After everything? When he needs help? You want to send him away now?' He demanded angrily.

'We are left with very few options, Thomas.' Said Robert gently, looking to Carson to back him up.

'The current situation is not manageable.' Carson agreed, sounding even more reluctant than Robert to say so.

'So that's it…you just get rid of him?' Said Thomas. 'Fucks sake…' He said, genuinely no longer caring about his manner of address or social propriety. 'Molesley gets sick and you pay for him to go to a nice convalescent home in the countryside, Jimmy gets sick and you want to kick him out onto the street?!'

'Thomas, I would be more than willing to pay for Jimmy to receive the treatment he needs…However, I believe you and I are both of an accord that institutionalization is not something that would help the situation. Or at least, such a measure implies a finality of judgment of Jimmy's prospects in life that I am uncomfortable to make. So we must find an alternative…' Robert looked Thomas in the eye. '…but I don't believe we are in a position to provide him with adequate care here.'

'Please…' Said Thomas, looking between Robert and Clarkson desperately. '…can we not just give a little more time?'

'A fortnight, Thomas.' Said Robert bleakly. 'It pains me to do this, but this household has been disrupted for long enough on his account. You have two weeks to convince me that this…problem…can be fixed. In the meantime, Mr Carson, would you please release Jimmy from his work commitments? Have Brett fill in where possible and we will re-evaluate at the end of the allocated time.'

'You can't DO this!' Thomas shouted, slamming his glass down on the bookshelf next to him.

'Thomas, calm yourself…'

'I will not be bloody calm!' Thomas shouted back. 'So that's it then? You've made up your mind already? Give his job to someone else and let him scream at himself alone in his room for two weeks so that you can feel like you gave him a _chance_?'

'We have given him many chances, Thomas.' Said Robert mournfully. 'But I appreciate that you do not wish to give up on him. Do what you think is best…we will trust your judgment regarding the use of the sedative, or any other notions you may have with regards to his care, and re-evaluate James's condition in due course.'

'Must be nice to be able to wash your hands of our problems and go back to wandering happily around your bloody castle.' Snapped Thomas, shooting Robert a final death-glare before storming out of the library.

'No!' Robert called to Carson as he went to go after him. 'Let him go…' He said sadly, walking over to the drinks stand to pour himself yet another whiskey. This time he poured Carson one too.

'Nasty business.' He said, handing the drink over to Carson.

'The needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few, My Lord.' Said Carson gruffly.

'All well and good unless one finds oneself on the side of the few…' Said Robert with a grimace, raising his glass to clink gently against Carson's; not entirely sure what they were toasting to.


	71. Our Interest - Chapter 71

**Our Interest – Chapter 71**

Thomas threw open the front door and stalked out into the gardens to the side of the house; not caring that the front door was left open, not caring that he shouldn't have gone through it in the first place, and absolutely not caring about the mile-long task list that awaited him back in the underbelly of the house.

'Smoke…' Thomas muttered to himself, patting down his pockets and darkly warning the universe about the dangers of denying him that one escape at that particular moment. 'Need a goddamn…' Luckily, his trembling fingers located the packet in his side pocket. He drew them out, stuffing a cigarette between his lips and drawing deeply on the bitter taste as his lighter ignited the tip. 'Smoke…' He whispered like a prayer as the first smoke laced breath pushed past his lips and danced away on the breeze.

'Fucking…bastards…uncaring…nasty…' Thomas punctuated each step he took away from the house with some sort of curse word or insult, directed generally at the nebulous collation of people who lately seemed to be composed of everyone except himself and Jimmy.

'What the FUCK?!' He shouted at the tops of his lungs to the trees and the fields beyond.

Energy spent, he slumped down on a fallen tree trunk, shoulders and back hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, as he drew what comfort he could from the tiny white stick in his mouth; hating everything.

'Mr Barrow…?'

Thomas closed his eyes. 'Whatever the question is Bates, the answer is 'sod off'.' He said dully.

'What's wrong?'

'Sod off.'

'What's wrong?'

Thomas glanced up and almost fell backwards off the log, finding Bates's knees staring him in the face.

The man had been able to advance a lot closer than Thomas had realised.

'Well?' Said Bates, standing in front of him with a set of books tucked under one arm, no doubt on his way either to or from the cottage.

Thomas opened his mouth to repeat his dismissive mantra of choice, but instead found himself uncomfortably consumed by wracking sobs as his eyes began streaming.

He moaned unhappily, utterly unable to get a handle on the unexpected outburst, doubling over to conceal the worst of it from Bates.

'What did Dr Clarkson have to say about James?' Said Bates gently as Thomas's sobs abated.

'Clarkson said that he should be in a mad-house…' Said Thomas with a sniff. 'Then His Lordship said he didn't agree, but Jimmy should basically be anywhere but Downton.' Thomas exclaimed, discarding any sense of dignity and will to conceal his tears by leaning up to throw his hands heavenwards in defeat.

'That sounds very…' Bates began.

'Oh no…no no no…That's not even the best part.' Said Thomas with a hysterical giggle, accidently dropping his cigarette on the floor and having to fish around for it before continuing. 'They want _me_ to sedate him, drug him up so that he won't wake the others up at night…can you bloody believe it!?'

'That's…very unfortunate.' Said Bates, struggling with his inner urge towards perpetual neutrality in the face of what seemed an almost unforgivably harsh situation.

'Mmmmm.' Mumbled Thomas bitterly. 'And it's just…' Thomas took another agitate puff of his cigarette. '…there's nothing to bloody be done!'

Bates stood silently watching him.

'They don't want him here. He's got no family to go to, no friends, and Anstruther's gone off to France again…' He took another puff. '…not that THAT would have been a good solution anyway. And I could give him money, bloody Anstruther gave me a _lot_ of money actually…but what would he do afterwards? And if he's really sick, he can't be left to go off and live on his own anyway, can he?' Thomas slumped forwards again. 'I don't know what to do. And I'm sitting here in a fucking woodland…which I hate...spilling my guts to you…again, not my idea of a good time…and I just…'

'Why don't you like the woodland?' Said Bates, leaning to set his books down carefully on the mossy floor, realising, with mixed feelings, that this conversation was likely to be a long one.

'I don't like the smell of it…' Said Thomas, stubbing out his cigarette on the bark of the tree stump before pulling out the pack again. He offered one to Bates, who took it. '…reminds me of a nasty moment with Crowborough, if you must know.'

'I'm glad you said that Thomas.' Bates began, pausing a moment to allow Thomas to light his cigarette.

'Well I'm glad my personal trauma is of amusement to someone.' Said Thomas sourly.

Bates chuckled. 'I mean that there is something I have been debating speaking with you about, and I wonder if perhaps you might understand it a little better than I had initially thought.'

'Fire away.' Said Thomas without enthusiasm.

'Well…you say the smell of the woods reminds you of something, something uncomfortable?' Said Bates.

Thomas nodded.

'I believe James has a similar problem…only far more severe…' Bates continued, wincing at the mental picture of Alfred's bloody and broken nose.

'Like how?' Said Thomas.

'The way he was with Alfred, when he hurt him, that wasn't James…not really. Something triggered that reaction.'

'Yes…' Said Thomas slowly. '…Alfred mentioning wedding dresses…which clearly pissed him off.' He added with a wry tilt of his head. 'Anstruther mentioned something about that as well…or at least, along those lines…' Thomas mused, lost in thought.

'Well then.' Said Bates decisively. 'That's that, isn't it? Ask James about it. And don't let him dismiss you without an answer.'

Thomas's head tilt turned into a shake. 'It's not that simple.' He said softly. 'There's something…I have no bloody clue what…that got him spooked when we were on our trip to Whitby. He told me as much that Whitby was what set off this…' Thomas was lost for an appropriate word. '…confusing, infuriating, bullshit.'

'Then ask him about Whitby.' Said Bates patiently.

'He won't speak to me.' Said Thomas, shaking his head again.

'Mr Barrow…' Bates said softly. '…an event that can cause a reaction…like what James did to Alfred…well…that must be a very bad even indeed, wouldn't you say? It will be no easy task to get James to share it, you need to be persistent.'

'But we've already shared…everything.' Said Thomas, screwing up his face as more tears threatened. 'He even…he even walked in on me, naked, in Crowborough's bed, when Crowborough was trying to rape me…' Thomas trailed off, rubbing a hand over his face to disperse the unwelcome tears. 'How could he feel he couldn't share his own story, that I would in any way _judge_ him for it, after that?'

'When did that happen?' Said Bates, turning to watch Thomas's expression.

Thomas clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, considering for a moment before deciding that 'what the hell' would at least temporarily form his philosophy of choice.

'The night that Crowborough died.' Thomas said, glancing sideways at Bates with his lips curled into a tiny defiant smile.

'My my…' Said Bates, momentarily sporting a sly smile of his own. '…so the two of you really _have_ shared everything.'

Thomas sniggered, caught once again between the urge to cry bitterly or laugh with abandon.

He quickly settled down.

Silence descended in the woodland around them.

'We should be back at the house.' Said Bates at length, as their cigarettes turned to ash on the earth.

'What should I do, Mr Bates?' Said Thomas, staring blankly onwards at the densely packed trees.

'I couldn't possibly tell you that.' He replied with an apologetic grimace.

Much to his own surprise, Thomas found himself more than happy to throw all his energy into his tasks later that day, anything to postpone the inevitable march of the hours leading to the evening and to the night.

His staunch dedication to work raised more than a few eyebrows downstairs given that news of Clarkson's visit that morning had spread like wildfire around the gossip mill; leading to the majority to wonder why, if Jimmy's illness was a serious as all that, Thomas wouldn't want to spend the day with him.

Those that understood, namely Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes and to a certain degree Alfred, were none too pleased at Thomas's almost super-human devotion to his work; suspecting that his sudden surge of energy was likely to be followed by an equally extreme crash of exhaustion in the not too distant future, especially if an acceptable solution to the problem with Jimmy could not be found.

That evening Thomas sat pensively on the side of his bed, his bedside table littered with the debris of preparing the barbiturate syringe.

He looked at it, holding the needle just so to catch the light, still not actually intending to use it.

But then, why had he prepared it?

With a heavy sigh, Thomas stepped out into the corridor to make the short walk over to Jimmy's room, needle in hand; wondering if anyone had bothered to warn Jimmy to expect an injection that evening.

Looking down at the light showing under the door, he noted unhappily that Jimmy's lights were still on. It would have made him immensely happy to be able to use the excuse 'oh but he was already asleep' for at least one night more, rather than having to resort quite so quickly to addictive and potentially lethal medicine. Not that he intended to.

Yet still, here he was at Jimmy's door, needle in hand.

With a deep breath, he pushed open the door.

Now, Thomas had _meant_ to knock. He really had. True, knocking on Jimmy's door before entering over the past few months had somewhat fallen by the wayside as a courtesy as his frustration with him grew, but he had intended to do it this time. But with all his thoughts on the syringe in his hand, the intention to knock had failed to translate itself into a physical action.

Which was why Thomas suddenly found himself an unwilling voyeur to the sight of Jimmy, bent over his bureau, wearing a night-shirt and nothing else; one hand supporting his bowed head, while the other slid insistently and repeatedly into the cleft of his buttocks, burying his fingers from view.

'Jesus!'

'Oh!' Jimmy's face briefly turned towards his in shock, before he quickly moved to stand upright, facing away from Thomas.

The hem of his nightshirt failed utterly to cover his modesty even from behind, but both men were aware there we larger issues at stake.

'Jesus Jimmy!' Thomas whispered, managing to collect his thoughts enough to close the door behind him. 'What the hell were you doing?'

'Just…just getting ready for bed.' Jimmy said shakily, keeping his back to Thomas as he stepped forwards to wash his hands in the basin.

'Look at me.' Said Thomas. 'LOOK at me!'

Jimmy didn't move, shoulders raised defensively as his hands gripped the sides of the wash basin.

'You're crying, aren't you?' Thomas said, causing Jimmy to hunch further over the washbasin. 'Jesus Jimmy…were you _hurting _yourself?'

'What do you want, Thomas?' Said Jimmy dully, turning around to face him without bothering to conceal his red face, or the parts left on display by the skimming hemline of his nightshirt; the latter being something they were both content to ignore for the present.

'I want you to tell me what's going on.' Said Thomas. 'I want you to tell me what's wrong.'

Jimmy shook his head.

'Jimmy…they're going to throw you out.' Said Thomas grudgingly. 'Carson's already asked Brett to take over your work for the next couple of weeks.' He noticed Jimmy's eyes widening as he spoke, and found himself feeling very ill-tempered that no one of the higher management staff had thought to enlighten Jimmy as to this particular development. 'And Clarkson thinks you belong in a mad-house.' He added bitterly.

'So…what does that mean?' Said Jimmy in a very small voice, crossing his arms over his chest and taking hold of his upper arms in each hand for comfort.

'It means you're fucked.' Said Thomas bluntly. 'Unless you let me _help _you!'

'You can't.' Said Jimmy miserably.

'At least let me try.'

Jimmy glanced at the syringe in Thomas's hand. 'Is that _trying_, is it?' He said.

'This…' Thomas brandished the needle. '…is a last resort. And one, I might add, I may have prepared but I wasn't seriously considering until…' He indicated over to the bureau. 'Seriously, what was that about Jimmy?'

'You wouldn't understand.'

'Jimmy there isn't TIME for you to keep fobbing me off!' Thomas hissed at him. 'We have three options here. Either you leave, you speak to me, or you have this…' He said, holding up the needle in front of Jimmy's face. 'Just tell me what's wrong.'

'I can't.'

'Why?' Thomas demanded flatly.

'Because you wouldn't under…'

'Then MAKE me understand.' Thomas cut in.

'How…' Jimmy muttered, momentarily advancing to speak right into Thomas's face. '…can I make you understand something I barely understand myself?'

'Just _try_.'

Jimmy stepped back and shook his head.

'Right…' Thomas breathed defeatedly. 'Put your pyjama bottoms on, Jimmy.'

'What?' Said Jimmy, a little thrown by the segue. 'Why? It's not like this is new territory for either of us.'

'No.' Thomas agreed sadly, looking down at the syringe. 'But I'm about to ask someone to come in here and hold you steady while I stick this into your arm, and I thought you might prefer to be wearing bottoms when I do so.'

'You wouldn't.' Said Jimmy, staring at him.

'Right now, Jimmy, I would.'

'Thomas you can't be…'

Jimmy watched, stunned, as Thomas turned and walked over to the door, leaving it partially open as he stepped out into the corridor.

'Thomas!' Jimmy whispered urgently, going to follow him then realising that his state of undress might make that problematic. He turned back, his gaze coming to settle on the pyjama bottoms lying on the floor where he'd left them. But he couldn't quite bring himself to put them back on. That would seem uncomfortably like _agreeing_ to be held down and sedated.

That defiant thought didn't make the situation any less humiliating however, when Thomas reappeared in the room with Alfred in tow.

A few moments of ungainly struggling later and Jimmy found a strange kind of numbness creeping through his mind, noting with surprise that his head had somehow found the pillow on his bed.

'Thank you Alfred.' Said Thomas softly, fighting a strong feeling of nausea each time he looked down at Jimmy's semi-conscious figure. 'I'll take it from here.'

Alfred gave a small bow, a grimace of a smile, and left.

As Thomas retrieved Jimmy's pyjama bottoms from the floor and began the task of pulling them on him, he found himself musing on how far he had come to have achieved the kind of trust from Alfred that would allow him to be left, without hesitation, in a room with a half-naked, half-conscious, Jimmy. The thought was small comfort, however, under the circumstances.

Thomas switched off the lights and pulled Jimmy's door shut behind him, fighting the urge to linger longer by the bedside to make sure he kept on breathing throughout the night.

Evidence of Jimmy's continued existence came abruptly in the early hours of the morning.

Thomas awoke in a panic at the sound of screams, and tore his way out of his room and down the corridor towards Jimmy's bedroom.

Wrenching open the door, he found Jimmy thrashing about on the bed, screaming so loudly that his ears physically throbbed at the noise. And it wasn't just screams this time. There were words too, mostly garbled insults and expressions of frustration, punctuated by blood curdling screams that made the hairs on one's neck stand up in fright.

'But I thought you gave him…?' Said Carson, appearing in the doorway.

'He did.' Cut in Alfred, peering round the doorway like Carson.

Thomas glanced at the growing crowd of onlookers, intensely grateful that he had taken the time to dress Jimmy before leaving him for the night.

At another howl from Jimmy, Thomas decided, onlookers be damned, he needed to be there with him.

Thomas set himself down at the side of the bed, trying to take ahold of Jimmy's flailing sweat-soaked limbs.

'Shhhh…' He whispered desperately. 'It's alright…I'm so sorry…It will be alright…You're fine…'

He succeeded in getting his hands around Jimmy's torso, pinning him to his chest.

Jimmy's cries abated as he awoke, his fingers curling to hold Thomas's shoulders tightly as he allowed himself to be rocked back and forth in Thomas's arms.

'To bed…' Said Carson gruffly, shepherding out the onlookers and closing the door behind him, sparing a glance for the entwined figures of Thomas and Jimmy as he did so.

'Jimmy…' Whispered Thomas, not sure if the tears on his cheek were his own or not. Jimmy clutched tightly in his arms, Thomas felt Jimmy's breath on the side of his neck. He slowly began to move his head down to bring their mouths closer, desperate to kiss, to comfort.

But just as their lips met, barely touching, Jimmy pulled violently away. 'No!' He shouted, his breathing ragged through his sobs.

'I'm sorry!' Thomas said quickly. 'But Jimmy…' He watched as Jimmy swiped angrily at the tears on his face before pulling his soaked nightshirt off over his head to throw it angrily on the floor. '…what's wrong?' He said wretchedly.

'I can't…' Jimmy said, his voice coming out far higher than usual. 'I just can't. I don't _know_.'

'Yes you DO. Tell me!'

'I can't.' Jimmy dropped his head into his hands, knees drawn up to his chest.

'How about you start by telling me what were you dreaming about?' Said Thomas insistently. As Jimmy began to shake his head he continued. 'And you can't say that you can't do that now, can you?' Said Thomas firmly, abandoning good grammar in the cause of truth.

Jimmy made a very inhuman noise.

'What were you dreaming of?' Thomas said again, gentle but determined.

Jimmy shook his head vigorously behind his hands.

'What were you dreaming of?' Thomas repeated, softer than before.

Thomas had almost given up hope when Jimmy finally deigned to speak.

'Swimming.' Came the unexpected reply. 'I was dreaming about swimming…' Jimmy said.


	72. Our Interest - Chapter 72

**Our Interest – Chapter 72**

**WARNING – HEAVY MALE/MALE SLASH and multiple kinks that may be triggery in multiple ways. Please proceed with extreme caution. You can skip this one and pick the story up in the next chapter; like with the 'bad' chapter of 'Self Interest' the chapters of this story were specifically structured to allow people to do this, so please take advantage of that if you are at all dubious about reading a chapter with too many 'kinks' and 'trigger' warnings to list individually**

_He would have liked to have someone to swim with. _

_When the water is just right one feels an obligation to share it; and no amount of hyperbolic description can adequately replicate the glorious feeling of the perfect combination of cool water, baking sun and a lazy afternoon breeze. Still, his companion back on dry land seemed happy enough. And, truth be told, he couldn't quite imagine the prim and be-suited man stripping off and taking to the water as he had done; he was far too proper for such pursuits. _

_Still, he returned the odd childish waves that Jimmy felt compelled to give him from the lake enthusiastically enough and seemed to take genuine pleasure in Jimmy's enjoyment of his late afternoon swim. _

_Jimmy could have happily stayed in the water for hours more, but the slowly dipping sun and shifting shadows reminded him of the irritatingly waning length of time left before dinner. _

_With a few unhurried strokes, he made his way back towards the waters edge. _

_'Finally taking pity on my loneliness?' Called Charles, reclining leisurely on his elbows in the sun, legs stretched out in what would have been the perfect sunbathing posture were it not for his thick woolen trousers. _

_'I haven't been that long!' Laughed Jimmy, flat on his front in the shallows, eager to keep his body submerged in the delicious coolness as long as possible._

_'Hah!' Charles exclaimed. 'When you first got in there I was still in the ruddy SHADE!' He said, indicating the large willow to his right, which now cast it's silhouette a good few feet on from his reclining figure. He sat up straighter. 'Am I to fetch a crow bar to pry you out of there?' He said, smiling at Jimmy's reluctance to leave the water. _

_'As though you'd risk getting your shoes wet!' Jimmy called back with a teasing grin._

_'Mmmmm…I suppose these are rather good shoes.' Said Charles, flopping back down to lay on the grass with one hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. _

_Jimmy hesitated a moment, fingers curled in the soft mud by the reeds, wondering precisely WHY he was hesitating to exit the water given that Charles looking elsewhere should actually be an encouragement rather than a disappointment for him to emerge naked from its cloaking influence. As to the reasoning behind WANTING to be seen emerging from the water by his suddenly inattentive companion Jimmy was at a loss to explain, but nevertheless the feeling was there. _

_Frowning at the odd notion, Jimmy pulled himself forwards and planted his feet down in the shallows. _

_Taking a moment, crouching, to wash the remnants of mud off his hands and knees he rose to walk up the bank; first tip-toeing through the grass, then striding impatiently at the length of the walk._

_He was startled into halting when Charles suddenly sat up again. _

_'Oh Jimmy…' He sighed in a sing-song voice as he lifted his hips slightly to get at the cigarette packet in his pocket, eyeing Jimmy's dripping form. '…trust you not to get your hair wet!'_

_Jimmy smiled bashfully, running an absent hand over his still perfectly sculpted (and dry) hairstyle. 'Are you saying I'm vain just because I do more than plaster it down with half a jar of grease…?' He said, raising a cheeky eyebrow as he indicated Charles's very flat and very product laden white-blonde hair. _

_'I'm not saying you're vain…' Said Charles. '…just amusing.' He teased, cigarette smoke curling from behind his teeth as Jimmy made the final approach and sat down next to him on the grass; at first at a quite a distance, but after a moments pondering Jimmy shifted a little closer. _

_They looked at each other a moment before awkwardly looking away, ostensibly to admire the view of the lake. _

_'Should have brought a towel really…' Muttered Jimmy, grimacing as he looked down at the sheen of water still clinging to his skin, shifting the leg nearest to Charles up a little in a fairly pointless nod to modestly. He eyed the pile of his clothes lying piled up at the base of the tree trunk, the other side of Charles to him, then up at the sun; willing it to get to work a little faster on the stubborn water droplets._

_Charles gave a slight snort. 'We can linger until you dry out. And don't worry. The garden is perfectly private my dear.' He said, playing absently with his cigarette between finger and thumb. 'You may even wander back to the house like that if you wish.'_

_'That'll give Gertrude a bit of a shock!' Said Jimmy, reclining on his elbows, watching Charles's cigarette making it's way back to his mouth. _

_'I think you'll find housekeepers are rather hard to shock.' Said Charles with a wink. _

_Jimmy laughed and went back to staring out over the lake and the long shadows thrown by the declining but stubbornly golden sunlight. 'It is gorgeous here, isn't it?' Said Jimmy. It wasn't really a question. _

_'Yes.' Charles agreed quietly. 'And after those dark days, and even darker nights, of the war…of the trenches…I don't think I'll ever stop appreciating it. Makes one feel bad you know…we tore up a land just as green and peaceful as this and turned it into a muddy grey hell.'_

_ 'Dark days.' Said Jimmy softly. _

_'Yes.' Charles said again. 'I wonder if I deserve this, you know. There's plenty that didn't make it back under my watch.' He sighed. 'Captain indeed…'_

_'You did the best you could.' Said Jimmy. 'And even now you're still looking after ME…thank you again, by the way.' He added._

_'Don't be silly.' Said Charles. 'That business with your parents was rotten luck. There's no shame in needing help, and I am glad you came to me to ask for it.'_

_Jimmy nodded silently, biting his lip a little to keep the unwanted stirring of grief off his face as he continued to gaze ahead. _

_'It will take time for you to move on.' Continued Charles, lighting a new cigarette from the remnants of the old; easily the most 'common' thing Jimmy had ever seen him do. 'I still think of my wife even though it's been so many years. I think of her often.' He scratched at the side of his nose, evidently prone to displaying grief through nasal twitching rather than lip quivering, before adding shakily. 'And of course there were no children to speak of.' He sighed. 'So here I am, alone.'_

_'Sorry for your loss.' Jimmy said softly, because he felt he had to say SOMETHING and his mind refused to gift him with anything more meaningful. _

_'My dear, we have both suffered.' Said Charles with a wry twist of his mouth. The brightness that reappeared in his eyes as he and Jimmy looked back towards one another effectively ending the painful reminiscing. _

_The silence began to make Jimmy a little uncomfortable, although it could have just been the slight decline in temperature as the afternoon crept towards evening. _

_He supposed now was as good a time as any to broach the slightly awkward topic of money, given that he had been putting off the inevitable discussion for far longer than his conscience had been comfortable with. _

_'I need to look into getting a job really.' Said Jimmy with absolutely no enthusiasm._

_'Now why on earth would you want to do a thing like that?' Chuckled Charles._

_'You've been so unbelievably good to me.' Said Jimmy, rolling over onto his side with his head propped up on his arm to meet Charles's gaze. 'But I can't keep loafing about. Got to earn my keep and all that.' He glanced down at the patch of grass between them, speckled with flecks of ash from Charles's cigarette, and continued sadly. 'I was training to be in accounts you know…before the war. That's what my Dad did.'_

_'Don't be ridiculous my dear!' Exclaimed Charles, mimicking Jimmy's posture, reaching out to give a playful nudge at his cheek bone as he replied. 'Your presence here is quite reward enough. And I've told you time and again that money is no issue. For us in these parts, it has been quite decades since we have been required to pay our duty to the estate.'_

_'Still…' Jimmy pushed his lips out in an exaggerated pout, none too enthused at the idea of re-entering the working world but assured of the inevitability of such a move. _

_'Don't worry about that. At least not for the present.' Said Charles, the corners of his lips curling up in amusement at Jimmy's petulant expression. 'Let's just enjoy the sun shall we?'_

_'What's left of it…' Jimmy retorted with a smile, dropping onto his back again to stare up at the sky. 'This is rather pleasant though…' He conceded, feeling much more comfortable as the remaining sun got to work driving the last remnants of water from his skin. 'Could just fall asleep here really…' _

_'I think I could join you.' Charles joked. 'So long as you snore less here than you do in bed…'_

_'I do NOT…' Jimmy began to protest, before asking in a small voice. 'Do I?'_

_'Relax. I'm only teasing you.' Said Charles, inclining his head to offer a reassuring smile._

_'I didn't mean to fall asleep…in your bed…' Said Jimmy, feeling a blush rising in his cheeks. '…I'm really very sorry.'_

_'Don't be.' Said Charles warmly. 'It's entirely my fault for making you read to me into the early hours of the morning.' He paused for a leisurely draw on his cigarette. 'Besides, it is rather nice to share a bed is it not? I find it rather comforting, don't you?...And we both have good reason to be lonely.' He added._

_'I suppose.' Said Jimmy softly. _

_'Although…you might have stayed awake long enough to wish me goodnight, good manners and all that.' He said in mock reproach. 'Offer me a goodnight kiss and tuck me in…' He grinned, raising his cigarette in readiness for another taste._

_Something that transcended the pause that comes with conscious thought had Jimmy briefly leaning in to brush his lips lightly against Charles's cheek. _

_'There you go…' He said sheepishly upon returning to his original reclining position, wondering precisely WHAT had come over him._

_'My my…' Said Charles, cigarette still poised by his lips. '…under the current circumstances…' He flicked his eyes over Jimmy's naked torso. '…that was rather indecent really.'_

_'Oh…' Jimmy shrank back into himself, painfully aware of his nudity and a sense of deep and indefinable confusion._

_Charles shifted a little to lie on his side, eyeing Jimmy's expression carefully as Jimmy attempted to look everywhere but his eyes. 'I think…' Charles said gently at length. '…indecency rather suits you.'_

_Jimmy's eyes snapped on to his before being drawn down lower to his lips as he took another drag on his cigarette. _

_For a moment all was the deafening silence of potential._

_As the smoke began to leave Charles's lips, Jimmy felt himself drawn in. Drawn towards him. And he followed where the sudden magnetism led; to Charles's mouth. _

_He brought their lips together._

_It was brief, closed mouthed, very inexpertly done, and very passive on the part of his companion, but so much about the kiss destined it to be memorable; the sudden feeling of fire under his exposed skin, the taste of smoke, that it was a MAN, and that it was the first. _

_'I'm sorry I…I don't know what came over me…' Jimmy mumbled as they broke apart._

_'Well all I can say is…' Said Charles with a hint of a smile. '…I shouldn't find it disagreeable were it to happen again.'_

_He waited for Jimmy to lean in again before moving to meet him half-way, nudging gently at Jimmy's lips with his own to garner the desired effect of a more open kiss. This one was more lingering; Charles tending first repeatedly to his upper lip, then his lower, as Jimmy's confidence and pliancy grew stronger from his initial tense hesitancy. _

_Charles drew back, running his tongue slowly over his lips. 'That was rather enjoyable my dear.' He said brightly. 'And evidence would suggest you agree with me…'_

_Jimmy leant back, his small contented and relieved smile at Charles's assessment of the kiss rapidly turning into abject horror and fierce embarrassment upon following Charles's eye line down. Down to where his body had decided to provide an involuntary expression of pleasure in the form of a highly unwelcome erection. _

_'Oh Jesus…fuck!' Jimmy exclaimed, pulling himself into a folded up sitting position, blushing furiously. 'I didn't mean to…Jesus, I…'_

_'Jimmy…Oh my dear…' Charles said soothingly, sitting up beside him, pointedly keeping his hands by his sides rather than reaching out to lay a hand across the bare, shaking shoulders of the man beside him. 'There's no need for such…histrionics…my dear.' He said. 'There's no call for embarrassment. I should take this as rather a compliment really.'_

_'But it's…' Jimmy sniffed. '…private. This…sort of thing…is supposed to be PRIVATE.' He said, clutching his knees to his chest in agitation, dearly wishing his pile of clothes were a little closer. 'And I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to.'_

_'My dear, under the right circumstances, it is perfectly acceptable…on might even say preferable…to SHARE such an occurrence.' Said Charles, offering a reassuring smile as Jimmy peaked sideways at him in surprise at his words. _

_'What do you mean?' He said, still tightly curled in on himself._

_'I mean that seeing you happy, gives ME a great deal of pleasure.' Said Charles. 'And I would rather like to believe that you perhaps would draw pleasure from the same. Unless you have any other objections save a THOUROUGHLY misguided notion that I would in somehow object to your present state…?'_

_ 'So…you don't mind?' Said Jimmy tentatively, raising his head from his knees to meet Charles's gaze. _

_'Why would I mind that you are finding it enjoyable to be here with me?' Said Charles softly, a look of pure earnestness about his face. _

_Jimmy exhaled shakily, again relieved at Charles's surprisingly unflustered and encouraging reaction. 'What should I do about it then?' He said. _

_'Now Jimmy…' Charles said with a chuckle, lighting his third cigarette the same way he had lit the second before discarding the remnants of the previous cigarette on the ground to the other side of him; ready to be collected and taken to the house for disposal later. '…you may not be used to SHARING such events, but I have yet to meet a young man with no notion of how to take care of such an occurrence.'_

_The blush flared again in Jimmy's cheeks. 'I meant…like…I should put my clothes back on, or something.'_

_'Oh please, not yet.'_

_Jimmy turned in astonishment, both at the words themselves and at the suddenly naked and raw hunger with which they were spoken. _

_'I like looking at you.' Charles added quietly, by way of simple explanation, unflinchingly meeting Jimmy's agape stare. 'But I can of course stop…if you wish me to.'_

_At the thought of the absence of Charles's eyes, and by extension possibly the rest of him, Jimmy's heart gave a small lurch in his chest. By way of answer he found himself slowly, tentatively, stretching his legs back out in front of him and leaning back on his hands to open up his torso; heart racing almost painfully as he did so._

_With a satisfied and relieved sigh, Charles leant in to press their lips briefly together once more before leaning back and exhaling the smoke he had been holding behind his lips; smiling broadly. _

_'So…' Charles brought his cigarette back to the corner of his mouth. '…about this business that needs taking care of?' He said wryly._

_Jimmy glanced down at the lingering evidence of his arousal, then back up very dubiously to Charles's face. 'Here…with you here?' He said, frowning in persistent confusion._

_'Why not?' Said Charles with a smile. 'It DOES need attending to, wouldn't you say?' He paused, allowing a semblance of seriousness tinged with a measured amount of earnestness to cross his expression before continuing. 'And I should very much like to watch…If you have no objections, of course.'_

_Jimmy's eyes widened._

_'But I couldn't…' He began to protest, but was forced to concede that there WAS a certain 'interest' in the idea as he felt his stomach flip pleasurably at a surge of enthusiasm below the belt; even as his sense of propriety balked in distaste. Because, seriously, WHAT THE HELL?_

_But slowly, gradually, as Jimmy mused that he actually genuinely couldn't think of a reason 'why not?' given his companions evident interest…and he WAS already naked, with a raging erection that was already on full view; so really, what did he have to loose in indulging a little impropriety?_

_'You mean…just like…' Jimmy brought his arm up to lay a hand across his lower belly, leaning more heavily on the other arm to maintain his balance. 'I just…just like this?' He said tentatively._

_'Just as you are.' Said Charles warmly, enunciating each word as though it were a statement in itself._

_Jimmy let his hand creep lower, along his hip and a little way down his thigh, looking to Charles's expression for encouragement before moving his fingers across the short distance and taking himself in hand. _

_He began to stroke himself, far more slowly and lightly than he would normally do to relieve such arousal in his lingering nervousness._

_He was a little surprised to find Charles's eyes still resolutely on his face rather than the activities of his hand._

_Jimmy found himself increasing the vigor of his strokes to provoke a deeper showing of ecstasy on his face in answer to the hungry attentiveness of Charles's gaze. _

_He found himself almost instantly at the brink of release. _

_Spurred on by both the urgency of his building orgasm and the look in Charles's eyes his hesitation fell completely away; his eyes closing and his mouth opening as he gave over to the powerful need to vocalise his arousal, moaning and inelegantly grunting, his body and thoughts consumed by the sensations._

_He was well past the point of conscious reasoning when he suddenly found Charles's mouth latched over his own to trade in hot needful breaths, save for the wish for MORE contact…any contact…on his skin._

_Still, the open, unexpected and tantalizing kiss was enough to push him over the edge. And he found the resulting orgasm quite prolonged from the usual fare as his lips continued to seek purchase upon the maddeningly light touch of Charles's._

_Charles drew away with a smile as Jimmy collapsed backwards onto the grass, still moaning softly through the undulations of pleasure ghosting their way through his body. _

_'Well my dear…' He said teasingly. '…I think another swim might be in order, wouldn't you say?' _

_Jimmy looked down at himself with an exaggerated frown. 'I'd say that's about right.' He said with a small laugh, surveying the mess. _

_'Well…' Charles said, giving a light pat to the side of Jimmy's shoulder before rising to his feet. '…you go and get on with that, and I shall go and fetch you a towel. Don't be too long, I should imagine dinner is fairly imminent!' He said pleasantly before turning to walk away. _

_'Of course…' Jimmy said, largely to himself. He got to his feet with a little difficulty; feeling decidedly 'strange' but somehow happy as he made the journey back down to the water._

_…_

_'Right, so, what's it to be this evening?' Said Charles merrily as he ushered Jimmy into his bedroom after dinner._

_'Mmmmm…' Jimmy mused, walking ahead of Charles to kneel down and browse the disorganised pile of books underneath the seat by the window. '…anything that's less soporific than the last one.' He said jovially, taking the top three off the pile before wrinkling his nose at the uninspiring titles and immediately discarding them, leaning forwards to check the next set for something more appealing._

_'Now now…' Charles laughed, throwing open the wardrobe doors. 'You can't wholly blame the author for you falling asleep while reading it!' He said, pulling his jacket off his shoulders to hang it up on the rail._

_'You're quite right!' Jimmy exclaimed in a voice of mock seriousness, climbing to his feet with a book clutched in each hand. 'There was this evil old bloke who just wouldn't let me stop reading despite the ludicrously late hour…' He teased, circumnavigating the open wardrobe door to stand beside Charles. 'Now which do you think would be best?' Said Jimmy, holding the two books out._

_'Oh, definitely the 'Forster'.' Said Charles, taking the smaller of the two books from Jimmy's hand. _

_Jimmy gave a small shout of protest as Charles proceeded to tap him lightly over the head with it. _

_'And that's for calling me old!' Chuckled Charles._

_'Well you rather ARE.' Said Jimmy, scowling briefly at him as he raised his free hand to check his hairstyle had not been compromised. _

_'I most certainly am NOT!' Charles retorted, pursing his lips in distaste at the notion. _

_'I don't mean to say your past it or anything…' Said Jimmy, the merriment in his eyes fading. '…only that, unlike me, you lived a whole life before the war.'_

_'It wasn't much of a life.' Said Charles, with a sideways glance at the wardrobe. _

_Jimmy followed his eye line to folds of off-white satin at the far end of the wardrobe, peeking out from behind Charles's predominantly brown and grey clothing. _

_'Is that…?'_

_'Yes.' Said Charles, reaching to shunt the suits along the rail to allow him to unhook the mass of fabric from it's perch. 'Her wedding dress.'_

_'It's…erm…' Jimmy said, trying desperately to think of a more neutral word to use than 'hideous' as Charles untied the ribbon around the hanger to release the voluminous skirts to the floor below the shockingly over-done beading and lace of the bodice. 'Quite old fashioned.' He finished, congratulating himself on coming up with a comment that was at least vaguely politic._

_'Yes, rather.' Charles agreed with a laugh, twisting the frock first one way then the other on the hanger to survey it._

_Jimmy relaxed a little, resolved to wait silently for Charles to finish his moment of nostalgia to avoid being called upon to comment further. _

_'She was rather a hefty woman, you know.' Said Charles, pulling at the side of the bodice to show the full width._

_Unable to think of ANYTHING appropriate to say in reply to such a statement, Jimmy continued to remain awkwardly silent, plastering an expression of placid attentiveness on his face, allowing his mind to wander a little as Charles continued to speak._

_'…I wonder if you might fit in it.'_

_'What?' Said Jimmy, brought back to the present moment with a distinct sense of alarm._

_'You.' Said Charles, stepping forwards to hold the dress up to Jimmy's front. 'I wonder if you might fit in it.'_

_'Couldn't say.' Said Jimmy with a frown. 'So…where would you like to sit while I read?' He said in an effort to bring the odd conversation to a close._

_'Will you try it on?' Said Charles with a suddenly mischievous expression, refusing to be turned off course. _

_'That?' Said Jimmy incredulously, before shrinking back a little at the realisation he had inadvertently given away his true feelings about the dress. _

_But Charles didn't seem to notice. _

_'Oh go on.' He said. 'It'll be most amusing.'_

_'For who?' Said Jimmy dubiously._

_'Come on, give an 'old' man a laugh…' Said Charles, pressing the hanger of the dress into Jimmy's chest. _

_'Well…alright.' Said Jimmy slowly, taking the hanger from Charles's hands. He turned slightly to discard the second book on the window seat. 'But you're going to have to give me a hand.'_

_'Naturally.' Replied Charles. _

_'Right…' Said Jimmy, feeling a little flustered. 'Right…' He turned to walk to the bed, laying out the dress on the covers before taking off his jacket. His tie, shirt and undershirt followed. _

_As Jimmy bent down to pick up the dress again, Charles moved past him to collect up his clothes from the bedspread and relocate them to the window seat. As he looked back, he found Jimmy mid-way through attempting to wrestle his way through the skirts to pull the bodice over his head._

_'Not so fast!' Charles laughed. 'You won't get far without undoing some of these buttons!' He stepped forwards, reaching his arms around the mountain of satin to pluck open the tiny row of buttons along the back. _

_'You know it IS rather claustrophobic in here!' Came Jimmy's muffled complaint from within his fabric prison. _

_'Almost done…there!' Announced Charles, beginning to tug the fabric down until Jimmy's head came into view. _

_'God, thought I was never going to get out of there!' Jimmy joked as he pushed his arms into the lacy sleeves, able to do so quite comfortably due to the loose style of cut. _

_Behind him Charles chuckled as he pulled the bodice further down to bring the top of the skirts to Jimmy's waist. He began to tend to the herculean task of doing up the dozens of tiny buttons._

_'Now really you should have some sort of undergarment on to make this easier…' He complained upon being barely able to bring together the two sides of the fabric to meet at Jimmy's spine. _

_'Not a bloody chance!' Exclaimed Jimmy, bringing his hands to his hips to wriggle the fabric down further in an attempt to make the experience more comfortable._

_Charles gave a very loud peal of laughter at that. 'Jimmy you really are MOST amusing!' _

_'That I clearly am…' Said Jimmy, more to himself than to Charles as he looked down at the mass of beading and lace stretched across his torso, waiting patiently for Charles to finish doing it up._

_'It's no good…' Charles said eventually, abandoning his efforts to do up the final ten or so buttons. 'Your shoulders are too wide.' _

_'Oh good.' Said Jimmy wryly. 'For SOME reason I was beginning to feel rather unmanly...'_

_Charles laughed again, giving Jimmy's shoulders a jovial pat. 'Come on now, let's have a look at you.' He said, taking a few steps back._

_'Ah…that won't quite do, will it?' Said Charles as Jimmy turned round, arms awkwardly at his side. _

_'What won't?' Said Jimmy, glancing down at himself again, unable to keep his disdain at his new outfit off of his face._

_'Your trousers. They're spoiling the line of the dress.'_

_'Oh what a terrible shame.' Said Jimmy sarcastically, attempting, with difficulty to move around the bed towards the bureau mirror; reasoning that he might as well see what he looked like, given his already intense feelings of embarrassment. _

_'Don't be a spoil-sport.' Reproached Charles, catching ahold of his arm to still his progress. _

_'Fine!' Said Jimmy, throwing his hands up in defeat. 'But I don't think I can bend far enough down in this to…' Before he had even finished speaking Charles was on his knees in front of him with a cheeky grin._

_'Oh…' Said Jimmy, attempting to keep his balance as Charles threw up the weight of the skirts over his head and began undoing his belt. 'I suppose that's a solution.' He said in surprise. He was surprised once again as he felt both his trousers and undergarments being tugged down. 'How were my pants 'spoiling the line'?' He said as Charles reappeared from under his skirt._

_Charles merely shrugged and grinned up at him as he undid Jimmy's shoelaces to enable him to step out of his them and his remaining clothes. 'Well, in for a penny and all that…' Said Charles merrily, depositing the rest of Jimmy's clothes over by the window. 'Now let's have a look at you.'_

_Scrunching up his face in disapproval, Jimmy turned to the right before rapidly being forced to halt at the risk of falling over the trailing skirts. With an even deeper frown he repeated the process to the left. _

_'Oh capital!' Exclaimed Charles, clapping his hands in approval. 'Capital!' _

_'Glad you find this entertaining.' Said Jimmy, highly unconvinced as to his own feelings. 'Can I take it off now?'_

_'Hold a moment.' Said Charles, bending to grab a fistful of the fabric at the bottom of the skirt before standing back up again, drawing up the top few layers of fabric in his grip. 'First I demand a dance!' He said grandly. _

_'A dance?' Said Jimmy, balking at the ridiculous notion, but nevertheless raising a hand to help Charles hold up the skirts while placing the other on his shoulder. _

_'Can you waltz as a girl?' Said Charles, taking hold of his waist._

_'Well it's not exactly a difficult dance, is it?' Said Jimmy, a tad patronizingly in retort at Charles's questioning of his prowess as a dancer. _

_'Very well then…' Said Charles, taking an insistent step forwards to lead him backwards round the bed. Jimmy responded without missing a beat. _

_Despite the small space they had to work with between the bed and the other furniture, they actually succeeded in revolving a few times back and forth in the room before Charles's hand, straying a little too far up Jimmy's torso and to his underarm, had Jimmy losing focus in a bout of giggles. _

_'Oh, ticklish are we!?' Exclaimed Charles, releasing his hold on Jimmy's skirts to attack his underarms with both hands. _

_'Ah! No you…bastard!' Jimmy shouted between fits of giggles, unbalancing backwards against the side of the bureau as he fought to keep Charles's hands at bay. _

_'Ooooh language!' Said Charles, spinning Jimmy around to face the bureau before dropping down to untangle the skirts from around his ankles. _

_'What…?' Jimmy began in confusion, looking back over his shoulder as he felt the backs of his knees suddenly alleviated from the brush of fabric as Charles rose back to his feet, tugging his skirts up as he went. _

_'Relax.' Said Charles, his voice a little hoarse from the exertion. 'You make such a convincing bride…just thought I ought to remind myself of the man underneath.' He said, pushing up the bundle of skirts to Jimmy's waist._

_Shocked into inaction, Jimmy waited with baited breath; watching Charles in the mirror as he stared down at his exposed rear. _

_'I'm sorry, do you mind?' Charles suddenly said. _

_'Well it's a bit bloody late to ask now, isn't it!' Jimmy retorted as gruffly as his current position, crushed by the dress and the top of the bureau, would allow him to. _

_Charles gave a laugh at Jimmy's petulance. 'Would you stay like this for a moment?' He said. _

_'What do you mean?' Said Jimmy, utterly lost. _

_'Hold this…' Said Charles, pushing the bundle of fabric a little further up Jimmy's back. '…and stay like that for a moment?'_

_'Why?' _

_'So I can look at you, my dear. Why else?'_

_Jimmy looked back over his shoulder again, scanning Charles's face for evidence of his motives. _

_'Please…' Said Charles gently, giving the fabric at Jimmy's back another push. _

_'Well…alright.' Said Jimmy, still very confused, reaching a hand behind his back to keep the skirts bundled up above his waist. 'But I still don't see why…'_

_'Can't a man appreciate beauty when it happens to fall into his presence?' Said Charles, taking a few steps back to sit on the bed. _

_'That's certainly not a word generally applied to the arse.' Jimmy snorted, fighting the horrible feeling of exposure that crept over him at the absence of the cloaking presence of Charles's body behind him._

_'Then clearly not enough people have seen yours.' Charles chuckled. _

_Jimmy turned at the sound of a click behind him, his eyes widening at the sign of Charles lighting up a cigarette. _

_'Enjoying yourself back there are you?' He said curtly, in an effort to distract himself from the feeling of discomfort coiling in his gut._

_'I am…' Said Charles. '…although I should enjoy myself even more…' He paused to inhale a mouthful of smoke. '…if you were to lean a little further forwards, my dear.'_

_'I don't understand.'_

_'So I can see ALL of you, my dear.' Replied Charles with a smile. _

_'I still don't…'_

_'Lay your face down on the bureau.' Said Charles in amusement, enthusiastically smoking his cigarette with his eyes fixed on Jimmy. 'Then you'll see.'_

_Deeply confused, Jimmy inclined himself forwards, feeling the fabric at his stomach tug uncomfortably as he did, opening his legs a little wider to relieve the pull on his hamstrings as his forehead made the final approach to the…_

_Then he got it. _

_'Oh!' He exclaimed, his mouth falling open in shock, his thigh muscles twitching agitatedly at the realisation. _

_'Calm yourself…' Said Charles soothingly, remaining on his spot on the bed, cigarette in hand. 'And please DO continue to be such an angel in indulging me…'_

_Jimmy did, but only because he couldn't quite puzzle out whether his sense of discomfort was coming from a lingering belief that Charles would be offended by his actions (despite all evidence to the contrary) or whether he himself actually had a problem with the current situation irregardless of his companion's feelings. _

_'Jimmy, can I ask you a personal question?' Said Charles as he came to the end of his cigarette. _

_'I suppose so.' Said Jimmy simply, his cheek leaned against the wood of the bureau. _

_'Have you ever had anything inside of you?'_

_'Like WHAT?' Said Jimmy incredulously to the hairbrush lying a few inches away from his face. _

_'Well for instance, when you pleasure yourself do you sometimes use your fingers?' _

_Jimmy raised the hand resting by the side of his face and curled his fingers and palm around, frowning in confusion that one could think to separate the activities of the fingers and the palm when gripping ones penis. _

_'I don't mean like that…' Said Charles, seeming highly pleased with Jimmy's confusion. 'I mean like putting them inside of you, down there…' He said, nodding towards Jimmy's backside as he noticed Jimmy raising his head to meet his gaze in the mirror. _

_'No!' Said Jimmy, vigorously shaking his head at the disgusting notion. 'Why would ANYONE…'_

_'Pleasure is why.' Charles cut in. 'I think you ought to give it a try.'_

_Jimmy's mouth fell open, his body suddenly cold at the realisation that at some point…and likely one quite a while ago at that…the situation had gotten quite spectacularly out of hand. Somewhere between the gown, the pulled up skirts and the man staring at his naked arse, Jimmy had most definitely had enough._

_'That's enough, yeah.' He said, releasing his hold on the skirts and pushing himself up. He swallowed nervously as he turned to face Charles, gripping the bureau top behind him for support. 'I don't like this. This isn't…I don't like it.'_

_'My dear, I am VERY sorry to have made you uncomfortable!' Exclaimed Charles earnestly, jumping up off the bed to take a reassuring hold of Jimmy's upper arms. 'Very sorry.' He said, leaning in slowly._

_Jimmy didn't move away; craving the comfort of a kiss despite the circumstances. _

_'Believe me, I'm only trying to help you Jimmy.' Said Charles, his voice raw, his lips remaining a few inches away from Jimmy's. 'You are such a wonderful person…but you are painfully innocent my dear. Do you not worry that you're ignorant of so much that the world has to offer?'_

_'But…' Jimmy was momentarily too distracted by the maddening proximity of Charles's lips, and the dissatisfaction of the unfulfilled promise of a kiss, to form a coherent response. '…things like that aren't…aren't supposed to come till marriage.' He said, wincing a little at paraphrasing the words of his old childhood pastor given he had spent much of his youth mocking such moral absolutes. _

_'Oh…' Said Charles softly, moving his face a tiny bit closer. '…I don't think you'll ever marry, Mr Kent.' _

_'No.' Jimmy conceded, his face showing every inch of the agony of the wait as Charles finally closed the distance between them. _

_He hungrily responded the moment Charles's lips were on his. _

_'Steady there!' Said Charles, drawing back with a laugh. 'I thought you wanted to stop our little interlude…'_

_'Well I…I just felt a bit…odd.' Said Jimmy inarticulately, his mind working furiously to fathom a way to get back to kissing as quickly as possible. _

_'You just need to realise you can be comfortable with me.' Said Charles, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Jimmy briefly grimaced in frustration. 'And to realise that I am just trying to help. Don't you believe I'm trying to help?' He said, face dangerously close to Jimmy's again. _

_'I do.' Said Jimmy abruptly, tilting his chin up. 'I do believe you!'_

_'Mmmmm.' Said Charles, sinking back down to press his lips to Jimmy's. 'That's good to hear…' He drawled before returning his lips to Jimmy's, attacking his mouth more vigorously, tugging on Jimmy's chin with his thumb to pry his mouth open wider, lapping against Jimmy's tongue with his own. _

_Jimmy moaned first in surprise, then in approval, at Charles's exploration of his mouth. But all too soon the comforting heat was once again gone. _

_'Why don't you give it a try, my dear?' Said Charles gently, nudging at Jimmy's nose with his own._

_'Alright…' Said Jimmy softly. 'But…can you help me get this off first?' He said, tugging at the lace of the garment that somehow seemed to make the whole situation worse by an order of magnitude. _

_'Ugh! All those buttons!' Said Charles. 'Later yes, but not right now. But no worries…' He said, turning Jimmy around to face the bureau again. '…I'll help you with the skirts.'_

_'Alright…' Said Jimmy again, even more softly, staring at his own mildly horrified reflection in the mirror as Charles once again ducked out of sight; reemerging after a short pause with the voluminous skirts bunched up in his hands. _

_'Here…' Said Charles, taking hold of Jimmy's arm to direct him to keep the fabric pulled up, as he took a few steps away. _

_'So what should I do?' Said Jimmy, his pulse thundering uncomfortably in his throat as he stood there. _

_'Take your other hand and suck on your fingers a little…you'll want them wet.'_

_'Right…' Jimmy did as directed, wishing he hadn't met his own eyes in the mirror while doing so. _

_'Now I think you'd be best starting off with your middle finger…' Said Charles as Jimmy slowly leaned forwards to resume his previous position bent over the bureau. _

_'Right…' Jimmy whispered, closing his eyes as he followed the instruction. He found it a little harder than expected to comply. _

_'You might have to tease it a little first my dear.' Said Charles. _

_Jimmy looked up to see him in the mirror reclining leisurely on the bed behind him._

_'Right…' Jimmy said again, unsure precisely what nature of 'teasing' was called for, but trying again; this time with slightly more spread legs and an arched back that gave him more range of motion in his arm. _

_It was better, he was more successful, but he wasn't quite there yet. _

_Impatiently, he brought his index finger up to bear as well. _

_He looked up triumphantly at his own reflection when he was finally able to bury the two fingers without undue struggling._

_He repeated the motion a few times before being hit once again with a sense of shame and ridiculousness. _

_'It's…it's not really doing anything for me.' He said, which was a slight lie, but near enough to the truth given his discomfort. 'So I'm going to stop now…' _

_'Of course dear.' Said Charles warmly, rolling off the bed. 'Now why don't you wash your hands then come and join me for a drink?' He added, walking over to tend to the declining flames in the fireplace in anticipation of the chill of the evening that so commonly followed the hot days. _

_Jimmy blinked, having expected something by way of fairly vigorous protest at his stopping, but pleasantly relieved that there was none forthcoming. He brought himself back into a standing position before bustling over, kicking out the skirts in front of him as he went, to the washstand to clean his fingers. _

_'I know you won't like my saying it…but that dress DOES rather suit you.' Said Charles affectionately as Jimmy made his way back across the room towards him. _

_Jimmy scowled viciously at him, but the scowl soon broke into a contented smile as Charles held up a glass of wine and motioned for Jimmy to join him in kneeling by the fire; as had become something of a routine for them over the past weeks. _

_'Well today's certainly been an adventure.' Said Jimmy wryly as he gently clinked his wine glass against Charles's._

_'I do hope today's events haven't put you off any future…adventures.' Said Charles, raising a questioning eyebrow as he took a sip of wine. _

_'No…' Said Jimmy slowly, raising his own glass to his lips. 'But I…' He frowned apologetically. '…I really don't get the appeal of…that last thing.' He blushed. _

_'It's like most things my dear; to get the full benefits one must practice.' He pointedly looked away, speaking nonchalantly to the fire. 'Or ask for assistance from one more experienced…'_

_Irregardless of his deep confusion at what had just transpired, especially his own feelings on the matter, Jimmy was suddenly consumed by the mental image (complete with tantalizingly real skin tingling physicality) of Charles's hand creeping slowly up under his skirts…_

_Jimmy sat back on his rear and crossed his legs (no mean feat given the swathes of fabric enveloping them) in an effort to dismiss the fantasy; painfully (and inexplicably) erotic as it may be._

_Charles smiled. _

_'You know, Jimmy…' He said quietly, still staring into the fire. '…there are many men who do that for one another. Because, you see, men know what men enjoy.'_

_Jimmy felt a quiver run through his body. 'But…' He said, a little shakier than desired. '…I told you, it didn't feel…good…for me.'_

_'My dear, you don't know what you're doing yet.' Said Charles, turning to offer him a reassuring smile before returning to staring into the fireplace, sipping his wine, absently musing as though he were quite alone. _

_Jimmy watched Charles for a while, then alternated between watching the fire and watching him, feeling very neglected. A feeling that had been quite alien to him up until that point since taking up residency in the household. _

_'Charles...?' Said Jimmy softly as the minutes dragged on._

_'Hmmm…?' Murmured Charles, still staring into the fire. _

_'What if…' Jimmy set down his wine glass and unfolded his legs, the fabric of his skirts rustling furiously as he did so. '…What if I were to ask you to 'help' me?'_

_Charles turned to look at him. 'If such a thing were to happen, my dear, I dare say I would be most honored.'_

_'Will you help me please?' Said Jimmy in a small voice. _

_Charles took another sip of wine. 'Are you sure Jimmy?'_

_'Yes.' Said Jimmy, leaning forwards to draw the skirts up._

_He needn't have bothered. _

_Charles was immediately upon him, pulling up the skirts and pressing him back down onto the floor in the blink of an eye. _

_Jimmy moaned at the sudden friction against his penis as Charles's trousers rubbed against him and the delicious feeling of warmth at Charles's weight lying over him._

_Charles's mouth descended, capturing his lips in a vigorous kiss. _

_'Spread your legs wider.' He said, pausing to suck at his fingers before once again covering Jimmy's mouth with his own._

_Jimmy did as directed, his breath catching in his throat as Charles's fingers found their mark between his legs. _

_He moaned loudly into Charles's mouth as he slid two fingers inside. _

_He wasn't sure whether it was because Charles knew what he was doing, or if it was simply the feeling of unknown anticipation that came with someone ELSE probing at his entrance, but the sensation was powerfully pleasing. He kissed back enthusiastically as Charles's fingers performed unexpected and painfully arousing feats inside him. _

_He murmured in frustration when Charles suddenly withdrew his fingers and briefly raised himself up off of him. _

_'What are you doing?' Jimmy said as he looked up to see Charles fumbling with his belt buckle. _

_'Trust me, Jimmy.' Said Charles, pulling his trousers open and releasing his own erection from his under clothes. 'You'll like this.' He said. _

_Jimmy's curious stare at the sight of Charles's penis, and confusion as to precisely what he intended to do with it, were rapidly quelled as Charles rubbed his erection firmly along Jimmy's as he settled back down over him. _

_'Yes!' Jimmy blurted out at the pleasant tugging of skin between them. 'Yes, more.' He said. _

_Charles complied enthusiastically, returning his fingers to their previous place as he continued to slide against Jimmy. _

_'Oh God!' Jimmy breathed, raising his hips to increase the sensation, feeling the pleasant pull of Charles's fingers as he did so. _

_'Mmmm.' Murmured Charles contentedly, bending to kiss him again. _

_Caught up in the blend of assaults on his senses, Jimmy was quite taken off guard to suddenly find Charles moving a little further down his body, his fingers removed. _

_'What…?' Jimmy said, pulling away from the kiss. _

_'Will you let me put it in you?' Said Charles abruptly, his voice hoarse as he dipped his head for another kiss, pressing his erection to Jimmy's entrance to leave him in no doubt as to what 'it' he was referring to. _

_'I…' Jimmy began, quite unsure how to answer, and very reluctant to have to deny himself the pleasure of the kissing in order to puzzle out a reply. _

_'Please, Jimmy.' Said Charles, his breath hot on Jimmy's face. _

_'I…yes.' Said Jimmy, because he genuinely could not think of what else to say. _

_In a moment the glorious heat of the kiss was back, but this time it was accompanied by an insistent and alien feeling of pressure down below. _

_Jimmy cried out against Charles's mouth as his body began to try to accommodate the unexpected intrusion._

_'Relax my dear…relax' Charles murmured into his mouth._

_ And with the return of the comfort of the kiss, Jimmy found he could. It wasn't pleasant, but he could. _

_Or at least, he thought he could. But it wasn't long before Charles was grunting in frustration. _

_'It's no good.' He said urgently. 'I need you to turn over.' _

_Without thinking, or really having time to think, Jimmy allowed himself to be maneuvered around onto his hands and knees; the feeling of alarm and discomfort returning with a vengeance as he found himself staring down at the floorboards. _

_Charles struggled with the skirts a moment, before having Jimmy once again exposed. Pressing Jimmy's bent legs apart with his own, Charles pushed against him once more; this time gaining a far more pleasing measure of depth almost instantly._

_'Ah!' Jimmy cried out, louder than before, and tensed up against him._

_'Shhhh.' Said Charles. 'You need to let your body adjust.' He said soothingly. _

_Jimmy let out another small cry of distress. _

_'It's alright…' Said Charles, rubbing small circles into the sides of his thighs. '…we'll wait for you to be ready. In fact…' Jimmy winced in pain as Charles leant forwards. '…I ought to tend to this in the meantime…' He said, beginning to work open the buttons of the dress. '…wouldn't want to get it dirty now, would we?' He said pleasantly. _

_Jimmy didn't reply, utterly consumed by a feeling of wrongness and disorientated confusion as he felt the sides of the dress gradually come away as Charles undid the buttons. _

_'There now…' Said Charles as he pushed the dress up Jimmy's back and over his shoulders and head. '…that's better.'_

_Jimmy stared down at the mass of off-white fabric pooled around his wrists, and suddenly felt the need to be violently sick. He pushed himself back, in an effort to get away from the offending garment, forgetting he was pinned against Charles. _

_'Whoa there!' Exclaimed Charles as Jimmy gave a shout of pain. 'Best let me handle this for now, yes?' He said as he began to slowly move into him. _

_Jimmy sniffed and screwed up his face, stubbornly pushing back against Charles; this time deliberately, staring down at the dress. _

_'Very well…' Drawled Charles, taking hold of Jimmy's hips and abandoning his earlier restraint. _

_Within a few minutes, Charles's breathing and frantic pace quickened to the point of being unmaintainable. Seconds later he released inside him. _

_'My goodness…' He breathed, patting Jimmy on the back before walking slowly back on his knees to draw out of him. '…that was wonderful my dear.'_

_He sat back on his rear, retrieving his cigarettes from behind him and lighting one with a highly satisfied grin. _

_'No no.' He said as Jimmy went to move. 'Won't you stay that way a moment?'_

_Lacking the energy or mental fortitude to question or to argue, Jimmy complied, his face crumpling as he continued to stare down at the dress, and unfamiliar wetness at his rear, the stench of cigarette smoke invading his nostrils as Charles sat behind him, surveying him. _

_'If only you could see yourself, my dear.' Said Charles merrily, taking a leisurely drag on his cigarette. _

_It seemed like an age before Charles rose to his feet, discarding his cigarette into the fireplace. _

_'Come on Jimmy.' He said pleasantly. 'I think it's high time we were in bed.'_

_From his position still on all fours on the floor Jimmy nodded. _

_'Up you get.' Said Charles briskly as he bent down to tug the wedding dress out from under Jimmy's hands. _

_'Yes.' Said Jimmy softly, getting to his feet very gingerly. 'I'll see you in the morning.' He said, beginning to walk the agonizingly long distance back over to the window towards his clothes. _

_'Don't be ridiculous my dear!' Exclaimed Charles. 'You will sleep here with me, of course!' He said as he hung the dress back up in the wardrobe and closed the doors. 'What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you sleep alone tonight?' _

_Jimmy chose not to answer the question. But he was glad of the sentiment. He didn't feel like being alone. _

_'Thank you.' Said Jimmy quietly. 'I'll just go and wash and…'_

_'Nonsense!' Said Charles, stepping forwards to pull him towards the bed by his wrists. 'Just lie down.' _

_Jimmy lay on his side as Charles divested himself of his clothes and climbed into his pyjamas, feeling increasingly sickened by the wetness between his thighs. _

_'Charles…' He said, his voice wavering painfully. '…I really think I should go and wash.'_

_'And why would you want to do that?' Said Charles as he settled down onto the bed beside him, raising his arm to envelop Jimmy's shoulders. _

_Jimmy sank happily into the warmth of the offered hug, but the feeling of nausea remained. _

_'I feel…sticky.' Said Jimmy with a grimace. _

_'As you should.' Said Charles with a smile, kissing his forehead. _

_'But I…' Jimmy began again, uncomfortably aware that the comforting hug had now turned into something of a restraining maneuver. _

_'But you…' Said Charles firmly. '…should want to feel me on you all night. Hmmm?' He said, snaking his hand down Jimmy's back to explore between the cleft of his rear._

_Jimmy looked up, caught between the powerful need to insist upon being released to wash and the equally powerful need to reconnect with the lips so close to his own. _

_The way that his companion kept a pointed distance between their faces while waiting for Jimmy's response strongly suggested that Jimmy would most definitely not have the latter if he opted for the former. _

_'Kiss me.' Said Jimmy softly, relaxing the press of his thighs to allow Charles's hand to dip lower. _

_Charles kissed him. _

_'Did you enjoy it Jimmy?'_

_'Yes.'_

_Charles once again covered Jimmy's lips with his own, probing his fingers into him. _

_'Did you love it Jimmy?'_

_'Yes.' _

_More kisses. _

_'Show me how much you loved it.'_

_The kisses resumed with a vengeance as Jimmy arched his back and leaned into the thrust of Charles's fingers. _

_'I loved it…' Murmured Jimmy against Charles's mouth, canting his hips, moaning as Charles's tongue pushed it's way past his lips. _


	73. Our Interest - Chapter 73

**Our Interest – Chapter 73**

**So sorry about the confused and poor quality of this one (and subsequent ones). Hopefully the gist will come across, if not in this one then the next ones, ahead of me doing a revision at some point (but there won't be time for that for the present!) Need to get this finished!**

'…It was…' Jimmy attempted a bolstering intake of air, but wound up gargling and choking on the stubborn mucus in his throat that had accompanied the silent tears staining his cheeks since the stories inception. '…I don't know. I don't know, Thomas.' He said, tapping his fingers agitatedly against the bedspread. 'I don't know!' He screwed up his face and shook his head; jerking it first one way then the other to dispel the lingering, unwanted, images from the reluctant retelling of (in hindsight) his deepest humiliation, simultaneous nightmare and reality.

'I don't know, Thomas.' He said again, his voice increasingly strained and desperate. 'That's it, alright? That's…' He sniffed. '…That's what…' He clasped his hands together, scratching at the skin of one with the nails of the other, straining his back to keep his hunched upright position without the benefit of leaning against his palms or the headboard. '…when I think…when I dream…when I can't sleep…' He shrugged in a pitiful attempt at dismissive nonchalance. '…that's what it all comes down to, comes back to. And I don't know what to say to you now.' He concluded softly. 'I don't know.'

He looked up at Thomas who was seated, unmoving, on the side of the bed.

Neither Thomas's posture nor facial expression had changed since the retelling of Jimmy and Charles's move from the lake to the bedroom; his continued human existence evidenced only by the light expansion and contraction of his chest as he drew breath.

'Thomas?' Said Jimmy unsteadily. Sniffing back the lump in his throat and blinking away tears despite both stubbornly refusing to be quelled. His face felt painfully raw, the salty tears down his hot cheeks crusting and cracking at the skin's surface.

He felt spent. Done. A few more days and such a feat of recounting would have been utterly impossible.

And now the tale was told, and there was no further energy left to put into trying to share it. Now was the time for intervention. Time to give over and let someone fix it.

He wished, anyway.

But he knew. He KNEW that it wasn't enough. His part wasn't done.

Even now HE wasn't sure of all of it; how could Thomas possibly be? How could THOMAS possibly know what was needed to remedy a hurt that existed only half-formed even in the mind of the sufferer? And Jimmy did know that.

But he was also tired, ashamed, and agitated. Unbearably frustrated at his helplessness.

And Thomas wasn't 'helping'. He should be helping. Why else did he think Jimmy was telling him all this? Shouldn't he help? He was older, wasn't he? He was bigger. He was his SUPERIOR for fucks sake.

Shouldn't he take charge?

Take away responsibility?

'Thomas?' Said Jimmy, unconsciously trembling a little as he abandoned scratching at the back of his hand to clasp his knees. 'Thomas say SOMETHING!' He shouted.

His outburst succeeded in unleashing the flood gates of another bout of tears, but had no immediate impact on Thomas save for a slight bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.

'I don't know what to day.' Thomas said quietly, his face blank. 'That was…' He said, swallowing again, struggling to find not only a way to express his thoughts but also to express them in such a way as to keep the lines of communication open. Above all he feared a return to silence. '…nasty.' He eventually whispered defeatedly. 'It shouldn't have happened that way.' He added, his voice a little stronger but sounding somehow alien as it left his mouth.

'No.' Jimmy concurred.

'So that's it, is it?' Said Thomas, trying not to sound as dubious and confused as he felt, finding himself uneasy about meeting Jimmy's gaze, worried the latter would read his confusion at the far less…dark…experience than he had been expecting. 'You…you had a bad time of it. The first time?'

He glanced sideways just long enough to see Jimmy give a slow nod.

'I don't quite understand.' Thomas ventured softly, balking immediately at Jimmy's sudden tensing in response and rapidly back-tracking. 'I mean…um…that was…' Thomas began again, pausing hesitantly, waiting to see if Jimmy actually did have more to add.

'Disgusting.' Came the reply.

'Well…' Thomas grimaced a little. '…maybe.' He eventually concluded, dubious of Jimmy's choice of word.

Jimmy laughed.

'So there you go!' He announced bitterly, waving his hand as though to dismiss the story entirely, with a stretched and slightly manic parody of a smile. 'Happy?'

Thomas's blood was instantly up.

'How can you be like that?' Thomas stared at him incredulously, unconsciously shaking his head in disbelief. 'After you just shared something…like that. Something that obviously has such a bad hold over you. Something so personal…'

Jimmy shrugged. Tear stained and sweat soaked, he just shrugged. The grin still plastered on his face.

'Jimmy for God's sake you can't just shut down! Not now.' Thomas's nostrils flared as Jimmy redirected his gaze to the wall. 'We aren't bloody finished here, and you know it!' Said Thomas, starting to feel every bit on edge as Jimmy had looked a few moments earlier; feeling that familiar press on his eardrums as though sinking down into some airless void as he could practically _feel _Jimmy once again pulling away from him, in every sense.

'Sorry.' Said Jimmy, the lie evident in his voice and on his face.

'Jimmy you need to…'

'Sorry.' Jimmy said again. 'Sorry you find it…unsatisfying. But there's nothing more to add.' He shrugged again. 'All much of a muchness really. All the things one does when one is stupid enough to think that someone…' He trailed off. 'Just imagine a similar scene…varying components, but similar scene…in all different places over the house, and sometimes the garden.' He laughed. 'But there isn't 'more'…not in the way you want there to be.' He drew out a laugh that sounded like a creaking door. 'Pervert.' He muttered, so naturally that Thomas almost missed it. 'But I don't have any more stories of that type. Sorry to disappoint.'

Despite the childish defensiveness and misdirecting swirl of repression in his mind, Jimmy was suddenly powerfully overcome with a craving for warmth; a warmth that he knew Thomas's chest could provide, crushed against his own. And God did he want it. Need it.

'No…' Said Thomas pensively, dangerously. He stood up from his perch on the side of the bed, unknowingly making Jimmy's heart lurch at the increased distance between them (not that, had he known Jimmy's thoughts, he would have acted any differently at that particular moment). He paused to tug at his pyjama trousers to straighten out the fabric, momentarily forgetting that they WERE pyjama trousers rather than proper trousers. '…you wouldn't have any more stories like that, would you?' He said to his reflection in Jimmy's mirror. 'Because…'

'Thomas?'

'Because it never happened to you again, did it? It didn't happen TO you. You went out LOOKING for it.'

'Thomas!' Said Jimmy reproachfully.

'Tell me this.' Thomas demanded, silencing Jimmy as his jaw hung open ready to protest. 'Why THAT job? Hmmm?'

'I had no money and I was homeless!' Jimmy retorted. 'He didn't keep me all that long, you know…Apparently there's only so many ways you can skin a cat before losing interest.' He said darkly.

'Tell me why a young man of decent education, training in accounts apparently, good looks, a clear aptitude for the service industry, and no doubt able to turn his hand to any number of respectable professions, couldn't find an honest job?'

'After the war there were no jobs anywhere!' Jimmy bit back.

'If there's one thing I know about you, it's that when you're determined you bloody do whatever it is you set out to do. But here…Jesus Jimmy, you didn't even try did you? Worse than that, on some level I think you WANTED what happened to you.'

'I was UPSET!' Jimmy shouted at him.

'So cry about it!' Thomas shouted back. 'Feel like an idiot. Be embarrassed that you gave everything to some bloke who didn't love you. Vow to never love again. That's perfectly fucking fine! That would have been normal. Would have been understandable. But what YOU did?…Jesus…'

'I hate you.' Said Jimmy, defeated in his quest to come up with a more productive contribution.

Thomas was not to be turned. 'It's not that he used you, is it? It's that you LET him.' He turned his head heavenwards in disbelief even as he obtained perfect clarity of thought. 'So you punished yourself.'

Now it was Jimmy's turn to remain still, unmovingly lifeless, numb; half watching Thomas pace the floor in front of him, half looking straight through him.

'Jesus Jimmy, how many times have you 'punished' yourself? All those men…Anstruther…even the fucking DUKE…do you realise what you've been doing to yourself? What you've made them become to you? Christ, that's almost more unfair on THEM than it is on YOU! Well, maybe not the Duke, but still…You what? You make yourself do it, time and again with all those men. And when there weren't men to be had, you just punished yourself, didn't you? Penchant for shame…' Thomas muttered, recalling Anstruther's assessment of Jimmy's character. 'Fuck.' He said, shaking his head. 'Jimmy there's something so VERY wrong with you. And I just don't know what to…'

Thomas stopped, blinked, and turned whiter than the white-washed walls behind him. 'Oh God…' He said, his lips remaining parted after the words had left him as he looked towards Jimmy; silently communicating a question he couldn't ask aloud.

Jimmy regarded him carefully for a moment, confused by the break in the flow of his angry reproaches, so much so that his personal indignation at Thomas's verbal attack fled briefly from his mind.

'Thom…?' Jimmy began. Then his eyes widened. 'God, no!' He exclaimed. 'Not…not you. You were different.' Thomas felt the painful tension in his shoulders relax a little at Jimmy's words, watching as the latter lowered his head.

'Or at least…you were supposed to be.' Added Jimmy sadly.

Thomas's posture rather than his voice (which was suddenly rendered completely mute and useless) relayed the potent exclamation. 'What?'

'I love you.' Jimmy said simply, by way of beginning, feeling the need to reassert the sentiment in the face of what was to come. 'And it was so different with you.' He said, briefly glancing nostalgically away. 'I really believed…do believe…that the love you…' He gave a small smile, a smile rendered disproportionately potent to it's size by the genuine feeling behind it. '…offer, the love that you hope for, that you so CLEARLY have faith in…for people like us…is true. It can be real. With the right person, anyway…' He briefly trailed off. 'And that's good. That's not the problem. The problem's…me.'

Thomas continued to stand silently.

'I really enjoyed…' Jimmy continued slowly. '…that trip to the coast with you, do you remember?'

Thomas nodded.

Jimmy did the same.

'You remember that night I was a bit…'Jimmy bit his lip. '…naughty?' He said, wincing at the word but unable to come up with a better one.

'Yes…I believe I do.' Said Thomas, his cheeks flushing a little at the memory of the deliciously good tease of their first night in Whitby.

'Well…that was nice.' Jimmy swallowed nervously. 'I liked doing that for you.'

'Right…' Said Thomas slowly.

'I really have been enjoying being with you…like that.' Jimmy asserted.

'Right…' Thomas said again.

'And it's…it's so silly really. But when we were down at the beach the next day, after I was…after I gave you a bit of a show, shall we say…when I was next to you after the swim, when I wasn't wearing anything, and you were smoking, and I…I thought of him. And I thought of what I had become, and of how I was using it…when I was with you. And I was ashamed. But I thought…I thought it would be alright. I just planned to stop being such a…slut…with you, and everything would be fine.'

Thomas grimaced a little. 'Well there certainly was something of a contrast between the two nights we were there…'

'But then…but then I couldn't forget. I didn't really even know why I was so wound up about it. When the police turned up about Lord Anstruther I knew it wouldn't exactly help…but I thought it would just go away when the business was done. It made me feel like shit about myself, I didn't want to think about what I was like when I worked for him, or what I was like when I 'worked' in Manchester. Because since I started to really listen to you…' He sighed. '…it's meant that I can't just pretend like what I did was nothing. And I love you for that, I love you for taking the time to make me believe that kind of love is possible. And I hate you as well; for making me care, for making it so that I can't just dismiss what I've done as nothing. God I've needed you these past few weeks…' He said with a sob. '…but I couldn't…there's just so much wrong with me and I couldn't even begin to try to explain it. But the one thing I knew was that I couldn't stand the thought of having you close when I felt like that…you shouldn't have to have anything to do with it. But then things got worse, and I wanted to talk to you and I needed your help…but it was too late.'

'It's not too late.' Thomas said, the words ejecting themselves from his mouth before he even consciously thought them.

'It is, Thomas. It really is. This hasn't gone away.' Said Jimmy miserably. 'I thought I could just forget about everything after the trial but I couldn't. Because EVERYTHING else is wrong too.'

'We can sort you out.' Said Thomas quickly. 'You're confused, you're…not right in the head…but you're talking now. And you keep talking to me, we'll get you fixed. Jimmy you can't let some bastard taking advantage of you years ago wreck the rest of your life, and I can help you to feel less…'

'It's not even just that though!' Jimmy said sharply, suddenly brimming again with anger. 'The point is…What IS the point of me getting better?'

'What?'

'What does it matter?' Jimmy said, shaking his head. 'I've not a single friend in the bloody world let alone this house, no family worth speaking of, I've no career prospects now, no money, and…' He gave a watery laugh. '…I'm even starting to look shit after all these sleepless nights. So what have I got?'

'Jimmy I'm here…'

'No you're not.' Said Jimmy. 'You broke up with me, remember?'

'Jimmy…even if we're not 'together' like that, and believe me when I say you are NOT ready to be with someone in the state you're in, it doesn't mean I don't care.'

'You walked away.' Jimmy retorted dully.

'Fuck's sake, Jimmy, you can't just give up.' Said Thomas in exasperation.

'Why not?' Said Jimmy. 'I've got nothing…All I want to do, God's honest truth, is to sit alone in this room and do _nothing_. I don't care about anything anymore. I could be summoned to see His Lordship right now and I swear I wouldn't be able to bring myself to get dressed or even comb my damn hair. I just don't...I just don't see the point of anything anymore. I'm so tired.'

'I can see that you're tired.' Said Thomas softly.

Jimmy inhaled shakily. 'Maybe Clarkson was right. Maybe I should be sent away. It doesn't really matter to me what kind of room I sit in all day…'

It took everything Thomas had not to hit him.

'Jimmy you CAN'T just…you can't just let that be it! You've wrecked yourself, your LIFE, over something that's so trivial!'

'Fucking TRIVIAL?' Jimmy shouted. 'Bloody ex Captain Charles Carter, I LOVED HIM. And I made myself so RIDICULOUS for him. Don't you understand?'

'No I don't. I don't see why you can't see that what you did with him doesn't matter, not in the way you think it does.'

'It DOES matter. It matters to me. And it matters to everyone. It's a sin. Sex without marriage is a sin. And I took that sin and I made it so much worse. I was a slut for a MAN. And there's no one to talk to about…about that. I didn't know what I was doing and there was no one to talk to, to explain to me what it means to be like ME.'

'So talk to me now. I'm here, and I'm like you, and I'm telling you that it's alright to make mistakes like that.'

Jimmy burst into uncontrollable laughter. 'Oh right…and how many times did you turn me down earlier this year? Because sex is supposed to _mean_ so much?'

'Ideally yes.' Said Thomas. 'But…'

'Well there you go then.' Said Jimmy bitterly.

'Jimmy, what happened with that man wasn't your fault. If you believe nothing else, believe that.'

'It's not like he bloody MADE me do anything, Thomas.'

'You just told me you didn't know what you were doing.' Said Thomas. 'And clearly he did. He knew EXACTLY what he was doing. It wasn't your fault.'

'Fuck you.' Jimmy muttered.

'I'm trying to HELP you! If you would just listen…'

'Yes, 'listen' to you explaining how I've been torturing myself for years over something that's so TRIVIAL!' Jimmy retorted.

'That was a poor choice of words, I admit.' Said Thomas quickly. 'But I think you need to understand that being tricked into sex with someone who doesn't love you isn't grounds to torture yourself like this.'

'Don't you see that you saying that makes what I did afterwards so much worse!?'

'Yes!' Thomas snapped at him. 'It does. But now that you ADMIT that we can think about…'

'Get out.'

'Jimmy…'

'GET OUT!'

Jimmy screamed at him, jumping up off the bed onto unsteady feet, remaining upright by virtue of irrepressible anger alone as he shoved at Thomas's chest.

'GET OUT!' His voice cracked and strained at each violent exclamation, his face pink and ugly.

'Jimmy…' Thomas tried to get ahold of his wrists, but in his desire to avoid hurting him found himself quite powerless against Jimmy's adrenaline fueled mania. He stepped back as Jimmy pushed.

'GET OUT! GET OUT!'

As he stepped back, Thomas became aware of a loud knocking on the door behind him.

'What is the meaning of this racket?' Boomed Carson's gruff voice.

Under any other circumstances Thomas would have rolled his eyes at Carson's nod to propriety, both in terms of his choice of words and in his decision to knock, Thomas knew that Carson knew PRECISELY what was causing the noise at that late hour.

As it was, Carson's decision to make his presence known was the final push that Thomas needed to abandon his pursuit.

'Fine.' He hissed angrily, feeling Jimmy's hand's shoving clumsily at his back even as he turned to leave.

'GET OUT!' Jimmy shouted again as Thomas wrenched the door open to be confronted by a highly irate (and more than a little worried) Carson.

Thomas heard the door slam behind him as he left.

'Mr Barrow, what…?' Carson began.

Thomas ignored him, stalking over to his room past the other various faces peering out into the corridor at the noise, banging the door open loudly as he did so for good measure, lingering just long enough to retrieve a packet of cigarettes and his coat.

'Where are you going?' Carson demanded as Thomas stormed past him towards the stairs.

'For some bloody air!' Thomas said gruffly without slowing his steps.

Carson glanced across the corridor to Alfred, who had emerged from his room along with the majority of other occupants at the continued ruckus.

A brief unspoken communication and a twist of the head later, Alfred quickly walked after Thomas while Carson turned his attention to Jimmy's bedroom door.

'James!' Carson called, wrapping smartly on the door with his knuckles.

'Just LEAVE ME ALONE!' Thomas heard Jimmy shout in response as he began to take the steps of the staircase down into the darkness of the night.

The pounding in his head abated a little as the sounds from the attic faded as he continued his descent, but the agitation remained.

He knew Alfred was following him, but found himself disinclined to give the matter any thought until he had gravel under his feet and a cigarette in his mouth. He also knew that the last thing he should want at that moment was a cigarette given the apparent role of cigarette smoke in dredging up Jimmy's memories of Charles, and he was almost certain it would taste like…well, like ash, but not in a good way, because of it…but he could not think of a thing he wanted more in the world than a smoke nonetheless.

A smoke would keep him from doing anything else. And 'anything else' was likely to be a poor choice given his current mood.

A few minutes of stomping in the dark and rattling keys later, he emerged into the night-time freshness of the yard air. Alfred following behind.

Breathing at an alarmingly fast rate, he made no effort to calm himself as he cupped a hand against the non-existent breeze and lit the much needed cigarette, standing in the middle of the yard; too riled up to consider leaning against the wall let alone sitting down at the benches.

Predictably, the smoke tasted horrible. But the reflexive action of breathing out a stream of smoke to the stars coupled with the quiet of the yard had the desired calming effect nonetheless.

Of course, the yard was not completely quiet.

'Mr Barrow…are you…?' Alfred said gingerly, clearly a little dubious as to whether or not he should remain given that Thomas did genuinely seem to just want a smoke rather than to do himself (or anyone else) a mischief.

Thomas stared up at the sky. 'Am I what, Alfred?' He said softly, surprised to find himself rather hoping Alfred would linger.

'Are you alright?'

Thomas snorted. 'I'm fine.' He said, tapping ash onto the stone beneath his feet. 'It's him upstairs that's not.' He said with a bitter laugh, indicating upwards to the roof with his cigarette. 'And, pardon my French Alfred, but I don't know what to fucking do about it.'

'Did he…' Alfred began, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, uncertain if he was welcome to remain. 'Did he tell you what's wrong?'

'I suppose he did.' Said Thomas with a sniff. He paused before adding. 'But he's so mixed up in the head I don't even know where to begin to start trying to help him…and I don't think he wants to be helped.'

'Do you think they really will send him away?'

'The way he's carrying on I think they'll have to.' Said Thomas flatly.

They stood in silence for a moment.

'I feel badly.' Said Alfred quietly. 'Perhaps if I hadn't…perhaps if I'd talked to him when he tried to talk to me…' He trailed off.

'He broke your bloody nose, Alfred. You're a saint for not dropping him in it back then.' Thomas sighed. 'You shouldn't feel badly for not wanting to speak to him after that.'

'But still…he's not 'right' is he? I should have made some effort to...I don't know…just talk to him. I just didn't realise it was going to get this bad.'

'Neither did I.' Said Thomas, the hand holding the cigarette hanging limply down at his side.

'So…now that he's told you what's wrong, do you think there's anything that can be done?'

Thomas grimaced. 'I don't know.' He admitted. 'It's something that happened a long time ago after the war, that's what he's in such a state about. Some bloke that 'did him wrong' you might say.'

'I see.' Said Alfred slowly.

'And…' Thomas said. '…he feels like he's got nothing going for him now, so he won't even try to get over it.'

'Nothing going for him?'

Thomas winced, knowing full well that Alfred would take his next words personally. 'He lost his promotion, didn't he, and he doesn't have any friends in the house…'

'He hasn't really been doing himself any favors there has he?' Said Alfred quietly, but looking every bit as miserable as Thomas had expected.

'No he hasn't.' Thomas agreed.

Quiet settled between them again as Thomas considered, then disregarded, the idea of taking another drag on his cigarette.

'What did the bloke do?' Said Alfred tentatively.

Thomas shook his head. 'I can't, Alfred. It's…it's hard to explain and it's…very private for Jimmy.'

'Right, of course.' Said Alfred quickly.

Thomas smiled apologetically at him. 'But I tell you this much…' He said, throwing the still burning cigarette forcefully across the yard. '…I ever meet a bloke called Charles who has a lake down the end of his garden, I'm going to be having some words with him, I can tell you!'

'Charles Carter?' Said Alfred.

'What?'

'I was just…'

'What makes you say that name?' Thomas demanded.

Alfred shrugged. 'Just being silly, Mr Barrow. He's one of the tenants Mr Crawley and I visited. He has a lake at the bottom of his garden. I think I told you all about it a while ago, his son took me down to the…'

'Charles _Carter_?'

'Yes, that's what I said.' Alfred took an involuntary step back, surprised by the sudden fire in Thomas's expression.

'Blond hair?'

'Yes.'

'Captain in the war?'

'Well…I think he and Mr Crawley spoke about that once. Yes. They were reminiscing about…'

'Is this the same bloke that you mentioned had lost his wife?' Thomas cut in.

'Yes.' Said Alfred, frowning in confusion.

'Alfred…' Said Thomas levelly. '…would you mind terribly if I accompanied you when you go to dress Mr Crawley tomorrow morning?'


	74. Our Interest - Chapter 74

**Our Interest – Chapter 74**

'Mr Barrow, have you completely taken leave of your senses?'

Matthew turned to tuck his shirt into his trousers while Alfred gathered up the discarded pyjamas from the bed.

'I just…' Thomas began, unconsciously leaning towards Matthew as he turned away to make sure his pleas were heard. '…I need to meet him, to talk to him.'

'Mr Barrow.' Said Matthew sharply, completing his task and spinning back around to face him. 'I find your insinuation that Mr Carter has been in any way involved in matters of…that nature…highly shocking. And even if you _are_ correct, which I very much doubt given what I have seen of the man, I fail to see how you have any right to trouble him with what are no doubt uncomfortable and sensitive details of the past.'

'But Mr Crawley…'

'No, Thomas!' Matthew snapped, throwing formality to the wind. He looked back briefly at Alfred, who had wisely stayed put at the side of the bed away from the two of them, to gauge whether or not he should ask him to leave, but came to the conclusion that Alfred's presence would most likely be useful in keeping the discussion brief and free of further…unsavory private information. 'What you have told me essentially amounts to a love affair with an unfortunate outcome.' He continued, unable to keep the involuntary wrinkling of his nose at bay at the thought. 'Love affairs sometimes _have_ unfortunate outcomes, Thomas. And when one party has realised that future entanglement is not beneficial or desirable, they are well within their rights to put paid to it! Now I don't say I would look kindly upon someone who has engaged in…physical relations…when they are not certain of their own affections for the other individual, but such situations do arise and however one may feel about the morality of such undertakings, often to end things is far kinder than to allow them to continue once true affection is gone.'

'Mr Crawley I…'

'You're concern for James's feelings is understandable, Thomas.' Said Matthew, with a look that was not entirely devoid of sympathy. 'But you must see why I cannot allow you to seek revenge for a situation in which neither person is more guilty than the other.'

Thomas blinked at that, but gritted his teeth and suppressed the urge to deluge Matthew with a paraphrased version of the implications of Jimmy's inexperience and Charles's evident proficiency in such matters, deciding that such an assertion would be very unlikely to help him in achieving his purpose in invading Matthew's chambers during his morning routine.

'I don't look for revenge, Mr Crawley.' Said Thomas soothingly. 'I just need to know more. Mr Carter, inadvertently or otherwise…' Thomas fought to keep the look off his face that betrayed which of the two interpretations he favored. '…has had a profound impact on James. I genuinely believe if I had a better idea of what I am dealing with in terms of his character, I could _help_ James.'

'Thomas I fail to see how you confronting a man who may or may not be an ex-lover, who I hasten to add is a highly respectable gentleman and a family man, will in any way benefit James's current condition.'

'Well I…' Thomas said, the slight trembling of his bottom lip giving away his desperation. 'I have to try something. It might not be helpful, but now that I know where Mr Carter is I might as well try to…'

'If you know where he is…' Matthew began, shooting a slightly accusatory look towards Alfred who quickly directed his gaze to the floor. '…then I rather wonder why you have come to speak with me about this at all. Why have you not just gone to confront him yourself?'

'Because it can't just be _me_.' Said Thomas, his voice cracking a little. 'It's not just about James and how he feels about what happened with Mr Carter. It's also about…' Thomas paused to wet his dry lips with his tongue. '…James and his position here. Right now he feels as though he hasn't anyone who cares and…'

'Thomas this household has done more than enough to try to…' Matthew cut in.

'No. I know that.' Thomas quickly silenced him. 'But it's how he feels. And if I just go on my own…whether I am successful in making something useful of the meeting or not…it still doesn't solve the problem that James feels he has no place here anymore. But if the two of you were to accompany me to _assist_ me in helping him…' He trailed off, looking earnestly and pleadingly from Matthew to Alfred.

Matthew sighed. 'Thomas I cannot risk my professional integrity on such an undertaking. This man is a _client_.'

'Mr Crawley I just want to talk to him. And I won't say anything about James, not unless I establish for certain that he _is_ the man James spoke about. Please!'

'Mr Barrow.' Said Matthew sternly, switching back to formality to add an air of finality to his words. 'You cannot accuse me for one moment of having been unsympathetic to the difficulties of the situation as regards yourself and James in the past. But please understand me when I say that the level of trouble and disruption that this situation has continued to cause has become untenable. Myself and this household simply cannot take any further involvement in the matter. I am sorry, but there it is.'

'You said I could come to you, that BOTH of us could come to you if we needed help. And we need help, Mr Crawley.'

Matthew grimaced. 'It's true, I did say so. But…'

'So…what, just because this isn't some imminent threat you'll take no part of it?' Said Thomas bitterly. 'Because it relates to a past slight that you poorly understand the implications of?'

'We have all TRIED to help!' Matthew shouted at him, surprising both Thomas and himself with the vigor of the sentiment. 'But enough is enough.'

'Mr Crawley, all I ask is that you let me accompany you on your visit to him. All I am asking is that you let me speak with Mr Carter.' Thomas pleaded. 'Surely that can be considered no great sacrifice in the cause of helping someone on the brink of total ruin?'

Thomas felt a small wave of triumph at the pause as Matthew went to respond, at the evident conflict behind his expression. There was hope, small though it may be.

'And what if…' Said Matthew eventually. '…what if you do intend more than to 'speak' with him? Or what if you find yourself incensed by him when the two of you _do_ speak? What am I to do then Thomas? When it will be entirely my fault for having brought you to him despite my misgivings…'

'Mr Crawley I give you my word I will keep myself in check!'

Matthew turned away, giving a dryly amused and unconvinced shake of his head.

'Do you honestly not trust me?'

'No, Thomas, I don't.' Said Matthew flatly. 'Not when it comes to James. I don't.' He glanced towards Alfred, who still stood miserably at the side of the bed, pyjamas draped over his arm, but decided to proceed anyway. 'And given what has gone before in matters relating to previous…acquaintances…can you blame me?'

The dark memory of the sound of the Duke's neck breaking in Jimmy's grasp replayed itself forcefully in Thomas's mind. But the sickening memory was no match for his resolve.

He fought to keep his face from crumpling in desperate frustration.

'But…' He began, taking a few deep breaths as he groped for a response. 'Even if I was to…plan to hurt him…do you not think that yourself and Alfred could prevent me from doing so?'

Matthew glanced towards Alfred's miserable figure again. 'I do not believe…' He said slowly. '…that if physical attack were truly your design, that the pair of us would have much chance of…dissuading you…should you be sufficiently determined.'

'Oh for…' Thomas muttered in exasperation, catching himself before the much needed curse could leave his lips. Under any other circumstances he would have laughed at such an assessment of his physical prowess; knowing that he had never deemed his own abilities sufficient to even defend himself against attack much less…

'Mr Bates!' Thomas suddenly announced.

'I'm sorry?' Said Matthew with a frown.

'He's put me in my place in the past and no mistake.' Said Thomas. 'What if he were to come to the house as well?'

Matthew closed his eyes in frustration. 'Thomas, I say to you again, this matter has caused far too much disruption as it is! It would be bad enough to have you absent from the house, from your duties, in addition to Alfred, let alone to take Mr Bates as well. And I do not believe for one minute that Mr Bates would agree to be part of any such undertaking were the situation explained to him!'

'Yes he will.' Said Thomas simply. 'I promise you he will.'

Matthew's confused frown deepened.

'He's been good to me…' Thomas explained, swallowing nervously, feeling so close and yet still so far from obtaining Matthew's agreement. '…about James, these past months. He has. In a way he understood what was wrong with him even before I did. He'll want to help. If that's what it'll take to make this possible, he'll come.'

Matthew regarded Thomas for a long while. And Thomas stood it unflinchingly, barely breathing.

'Alright.' Said Matthew. 'God help me…alright.'


	75. Our Interest - Chapter 75

**Our Interest – Chapter 75**

Things were a bit cramped in the car, to say the least. The unfortunate combination of Alfred's long legs, Bates's cane, Matthew's papers and Thomas's nerves ate up all available space within the small cab of the car.

Everything about the journey to Mr Carter's house irritated Thomas. He found himself feeling sick at the rumbling of the wheels and the twists and turns along the roads as he never had before when travelling by car.

He could take no solace in his companions.

Each time he had caught Matthew's eye as they first set out, Matthew had seen fit to remind him of the fact that Thomas was meeting a respectable man, his client _and_ the tenant of a most respected client, who had been nothing but good humoured and hospitable since the inception of their acquaintance, and that he was expected to be on his very _best _behaviour while he satisfied his (in Matthew's opinion, misguided) curiosity; on pain of some vigorous penalty which Matthew had yet to actually formulate. So Thomas stopped looking in Matthew's direction.

Looking at Bates for distraction was little better. Thomas knew Bates was 'on his side', so to speak, in that he was more inclined to judge and disapprove of Mr Carter's actions according to Thomas's edited account (which, unlike Matthew, he seemed to have no trouble accepting as truthful) and even went so far as to shoot Thomas a secret and meaningful look behind Matthew's back upon agreeing to 'dissuade' Thomas should he choose to renege on his promise to restrain himself. The problem was, Thomas just couldn't abide the look of sullen self-righteousness fixed on Bates's face, even though on this occasion it was entirely in his cause.

Truth be told, it angered Thomas that Bates was seen as the stabilising 'moral' one amongst the staff and thus selected for such tasks as reigning in the less reliable, less trustworthy, elements.

In his agitation and nausea, Thomas had quite forgotten that it had been at _his_ suggestion that Bates had been cast in such a role, and that the trip may not have happened at all had Bates not agreed to accompany them.

Still, Thomas couldn't stand to look at him as the length of the journey stretched on and his agitation increased.

Alfred looked every bit as nervous as Matthew and every bit as nauseous as Thomas, and hadn't said a word all morning. Consequently he could not be called upon to provide anything by way of relaxation or distraction for the journey, however much Thomas would have liked to. Although he had a sneaking suspicion that Alfred was harbouring at least a little resentment towards him for putting Matthew quite so out of sorts.

Looking out the window provided no comfort for Thomas either, particularly as they traversed the last stretch of road before reaching their destination. The village sliding by each side of the car was gorgeous, the idyllic sort of perfection that a person (particularly one like Thomas) would be sceptical cold ever exist in reality, but when confronted with it could not fail (all stubbornness aside) to appreciate as marvellous and be uplifted by it.

But Thomas could not be uplifted.

All that went through his mind while looking at the pleasant roads, houses and faces was how it must have felt to be compelled into _leaving_ it, most likely on foot, almost certainly in tears, while the perfect pleasantry wheeled on regardless, unaffected by one man's tragedy.

Thomas's stomach gave a nasty lurch as the car ground to a halt.

'Now, Mr Barrow…' Said Matthew tersely, looking everywhere _but_ Thomas as he fumbled to gather his satchel and papers. '…you are not to interrogate or hound this poor man unless you are unequivocally certain your suspicions are correct. And in the unlikely event that they prove to be so, you are to maintain appropriate decorum throughout. I remind you again, that this man is my client.'

_Well thank fuck you reminded me! I'd quite forgotten the past fourteen or so cautions and had every intention of stomping in and beating dear old obliging Captain…sorry, 'Mr' now…Charles Carter to death with the door stop! I sure am glad to have someone like you keep me on the straight and narrow you puffed up…_

'Yes, Mr Crawley.' Said Thomas meekly, standing bent against the roof of the car as he waited politely for Alfred and Matthew to get out ahead of him; wondering which of them, should the situation arise, would be least put-out were he to heave up the contents of his unsettled stomach down the backs of their necks.

It was a huge relief when his feet finally connected with the solid ground after the incessant jiggling of the car.

Bates followed neatly behind him; the sole member of the group displaying anything resembling a serene countenance.

Thomas's mood swung quite to the reverse of his earlier petulance. i.e. he found himself deeply thankful for the bolstering presence of the unshakeable and indefatigable Bates. His mind even pondered, albeit briefly, whether he might be permitted to grip Bates's wrist for support as they approached the front door. But he rapidly dismissed the thought as an embarrassing absurdity.

The house was large, conspicuously so in fact, compared to those that flanked it. It had been the recipient of several higgledy-piggledy extensions both upwards and outwards over the years, but the core structure was still visible enough to impress by it's size and long-lived dignity. It was a very old building and had most likely stood firm decades before the rest of the village had extended that far south, encroaching (with dubious legality) onto the private grounds of the estate beyond.

Put simply, it was the sort of place a man could be proud of owning and most likely one that had seen several generations of relatives grow old and expire within the walls. Thomas hated it's current owner all the more for that. Security and prestige were two things he could never truly abide anyone other than himself having. And the notion that someone thoroughly _wicked_ may enjoy such luxuries…

It set Thomas's teeth on edge.

To add insult to injury, the place was charming. The patchwork of the miss-matched extensions only seemed to make the place look more appealing, more quaint and inviting, hemmed in with a mature garden out the front of the house which, far from resembling a flat bowling green as many such gardens chose to do at the time, had been coaxed over the years into mounds and rockeries to better display the flowers and bursts of shrubs within.

_Son of a bitch._

Thomas hated him. He hated his house, he hated his garden, and he hated _him_.

The four of them stepped along the footpath, Matthew and Alfred in front, Thomas and Bates bringing up the rear.

As Matthew climbed up the front steps to ring the door bell Thomas's mind was instantly pre-occupied by hating Charles's door steps (finely cut, perfect size for the front door, golden glow and endearing nibbles of erosion of the stone itself). But then, as shuffling was heard from within the hallway he suddenly became aware, with perfect (and very overdue) clarity, that his hate was essentially impotent.

He realised, alarmed, that he had already almost reached the end of his actual 'plan'; which had amounted, in his initial excitement, to little more than the task of a) getting to Charles's house and b) establishing for certain that he was indeed the man in question. As to what to do about it, should he prove to be the self-same 'Captain', hadn't really settled itself in Thomas's mind.

And as much as he would like to have claimed that the 'plan' was simply to adapt to the circumstances as they developed, or as much as he would like to have cited Matthew's firm cautions as reasons for inactivity, the truth was that he, Thomas, couldn't think of a single thing he could actually _do_.

Why _had_ he wanted to come here? What did he want to achieve? Shit. What did he _hope_ to achieve?

He was certain of one thing he wanted to see, wanted to _take_ in fact. But he suspected his motives in doing so (to remove an item from a man who clearly, in some twisted way, valued it) were more to do with his personal psyche and need for revenge rather than having any direct role in helping Jimmy. And even here, he wasn't sure precisely how he intended to go about taking the item in question. Not with the eyes of Matthew, Charles and the rest of the household on him.

The question remained, and a very urgent one at that, as the sounds of the mechanism of the door lock met his ears as the occupant of the hallway appeared as a dim and partial shadow in the cut glass panels of the door; what could he do that would help _Jimmy_?

Was there anything he could do _to_ Charles, or demand _from_ Charles, that would actually help?

In the ideal world according to novelists (and other souls who possess the same optimism and naïveté, though usually not with the self-aware cynicism of the aforementioned novelists) there would be two possible outcomes. Either it would emerge that Charles actually had loved Jimmy, _did _love Jimmy, and had made many futile efforts to trace his whereabouts and now, finally, could be re-united with his lost love and spend the rest of his life trying to make up for the dark intervening years. Or Charles would be utterly horrified, chastised and repentant upon being confronted with the error of his ways, with the level of hurt he had inadvertently caused, and insist upon being conveyed to Jimmy, head bowed, to apologise profusely and beg for the mercy of forgiveness.

Thomas wasted no thought on the former; romantic he may be, but a realist also. As for the latter, Thomas was of the opinion that the man didn't deserve to be allowed to lay eyes on Jimmy, let alone speak to him, even in the unlikely event he _should_ prove penitent.

The utter certainty that under no circumstances would Charles be allowed to encroach on Jimmy's life now, what little 'life' still remained, did nothing but add to Thomas's confusion as to what he actually expected (hoped) to achieve by speaking to him.

_Was_ he just curious?

Was that _really_ it?

Had he been lying to himself that this trip was about Jimmy rather than him?

What could he do?

_[Not a whole lot, boyo.]_

_But…_

His mind painfully reminded him of the castrating effect of Matthew's orders, not to mention the similar impact of his general insignificance in the wider social order. There was no threat, physical or verbal, he could hope to effectively bring to bear. Nothing he could use to compel Charles to bend to his will (even if he _had_ known what 'his will' was at that moment).

It was an unbelievable relief to Thomas when the door opened to reveal a dumpy lady bedecked in Housekeeper's attire rather than the man in question.

He had a little more time.

_[To what? To continue listing, debating, bemoaning, all the reasons that this is pointless, and that you're an idiot?]_

'Mr Carter is out.' The Housekeeper said grandly as though announcing names at a grand soiree, as though her announcing as such would magically make the four men on the front porch disappear.

'We'll wait in the parlour.' Matthew responded brightly. 'As usual.' He added with the tiniest hint of venom as he stepped up over the threshold without being invited in.

Thomas blinked in surprise; evidently the issue of Mr Carter being out and about during appointment times had presented itself on more than one occasion, as had the 'welcoming' Housekeeper (Thomas guessed, without being told, although he was told almost immediately, that the man who acted as Butler was off doing 'village things') and Matthew had grown accustomed to dealing with the situation.

With pursed lips the Housekeeper ('Mrs Gertrude Baum' she informed Thomas and Bates, as though it mattered) stepped back and motioned towards the door to the left of the hallway as though she had intended to show them to the parlour all along.

Thomas took a moment to note that he hated Charles's hallway. He liked that it was small, cramped, but he couldn't abide that it had doors going off in both directions along it's walls (because _that_, as Thomas's mother had once informed him, was the ultimate mark of a well-to-do house). Thomas, naturally, had never lived (at least not in the 'upstairs' part) in such a residence. Not that he needed any more reasons to dislike Charles, but the 'grand' hallway made Thomas and even more acid taste of sour.

The parlour cabinet, over-filled with exotic china-wear and ceramics (most of the blue and white variety) practically slapped Thomas in the face with its infuriating pompousness as he entered the room; being immediately confronted with it dead ahead of the doorway. The majority of other furniture in the room was at least poorly matched and a little thread-bare in places, but that was a small mercy to Thomas's mood as the overall effect was still one of middlingly-affluent comfort.

_Bastard. _

'We'll take tea.' Said Matthew, without being asked, shocking Alfred, Thomas and Bates with his abruptness.

_Nerves must be getting the better of him too._

_Good._

As the Housekeeper swept out of the room Matthew and Alfred took their (evidently) habitual seats opposite the fireplace. Both Thomas and Bates judged that the empty chair left opposite was not for them and so sat gingerly down side-by-side on the chaise longue at the side of the room next to the door they had entered through.

No one said anything while they waited.

That was good.

If Matthew had chosen to remind Thomas, yet another time, that he was to in no way harass Mr Carter Thomas may well have regressed to the age of a twelve year old schoolboy in his manner of response.

Thomas's mind honed in on his complete and utter lack of 'plan'.

What could he do?

_[Well there's one thing you KNOW you want to do.]_

_[That ONE THING that won't help at all.]_

_[That ONE THING you can't get out of your mind.]_

_[That ONE THING you KNOW you can't leave without…]_

_Sod it._

Thomas wondered if he had spoken the two words aloud as Matthew suddenly turned suspiciously towards him.

The clank of teaspoons on cups and saucers drew everyone's gaze towards the other door at the far end of the room, through which Gertrude had begun to enter; tea tray in hand.

'Bathroom.' Said Thomas quietly and quickly, jumping out of his seat as soon as Gertrude was far enough in the room so as to ensure none of the other three men could follow him (without looking _very _odd) as he sped out into the hallway.

Because he had to do _something_, even if the rest of the trip was a complete waste.

And he reasoned that Matthew was already so pissed off with him that more of the same would be of little consequence.

'Thom…' He heard Matthew begin to call, but he was almost immediately cut off by an enquiry regarding how many sugars he would take in his tea.


	76. Our Interest - Chapter 76

**Our Interest – Chapter 76**

**Warnings for unsavoury allusions.**

Thomas paused a moment in the hallway, waiting to see if Matthew actually _would_ try to follow him. Or send one of the others to do so.

But evidently he had chosen his moment well. Gertrude was holding his companions temporarily captive with sugar lumps and with the master of the house safely elsewhere they were clearly not overly alarmed at the potential for Thomas to cause harm.

Thomas glanced behind him, eyes darting over the panels of glass in the front door, cut in such a way as to make the world beyond appear as through a shattered mirror.

_Nobody there…I think_

Thomas grappled with the uncomfortable realisation that no time estimate had been given for Mr Carter's return.

He exhaled slowly and turned to regard the stairs up ahead.

He glanced back at the front door again.

_Sod it._

_[Seriously?!]_

He forced his unwilling and trepidatious body towards the bottom of the stairs.

_What's the worst that could happen?_

_[…]_

_And I have to do SOMETHING._

Two at a time, and quiet as a mouse, Thomas ran up the stairs to the first floor.

He stood on the landing, heart in his throat, listening to the maddening creaks and groans that were part and parcel of the age of the house; which to his feverish mind could just have easily been an unexpected member of staff…or the owner.

Because houses _did_ have back doors, Thomas reminded himself.

And if he were about to go toe to toe with a property lawyer for several hours, Thomas knew _he_ would have wanted to head to his room for a bit to freshen up a little beforehand…

'Fuck off.' Thomas whispered to his internal paranoia as he twisted his head first left then right, trying to gauge if any of the rooms looked a likely candidate for Charles's bedroom. He dearly hoped he wouldn't have to go up to the second floor to find it.

He crept over to the first door on the left.

It was a sitting room of sorts. Or at least, that's what it looked like given the shutters were down (and Thomas's reluctance to push the creaky door open even an inch more than necessary). With a start Thomas realised, even in the semi-darkness, that the room's large window, set above a seating bay, resembled closely the one which Jimmy had described.

So that must mean…

Thomas quickly pulled the door closed, heart pounding louder than ever, mentally praying for symmetry in the core building, and strode across the landing to the room directly opposite.

There was a loud noise from upstairs.

Thomas's movements, and breathing, stopped at precisely the same time.

It was the sound of a door closing, that Thomas was sure of. A door on the second floor.

[Get moving you idiot. What does it matter?]

[Matthews going to skin you anyway.]

'Servant.' Thomas whispered to himself, eyes fixed upwards as though the ceiling were about to oblige him by becoming transparent. 'Must be a servant.'

He began to walk towards the door again.

_Why no! Is this not the bathroom? Oh golly! Oh I DO apologise! Could you please direct me…_

Thomas pushed open the door.

It was a bedroom. A large one. One with a large double-sized wardrobe and piles of books teetering about the window seat (which perfectly matched that in the room Thomas had just seen). Thomas felt fairly confident in surmising that this was 'the room'.

There was also a bureau directly opposite the bed and a wide fireplace to it's side (that was in need of sweeping). These two features were unremarkable in themselves, and certainly not in any way atypical of early 20th century bedroom organisation. But Thomas and his stomach found the bureau and the fireplace remarkable indeed. Sickeningly so, in fact. Silent and inconspicuous monuments to an unfortunate event, the very wood and stones seemed to seep out darkness as Thomas stared.

_This is where it happened. _

Thought Thomas. And he then he actually did feel desperately sick. So sick in fact, that he contemplated how quickly he could get the window open.

_[Christ. If you can't handle the FURNITURE how are you going to deal with…]_

_I'm going to. Because I have to._

_[And what happened to the whole thing being 'trivial', eh?]_

_Honestly, I have no idea._

Thomas spun about on his heel and wrenched the wardrobe doors open; damn near taking the one in his right hand clean off the hinges as his eyes instantly spied a crush of off-white fabric sandwiched between a sea of muddy coloured suits.

Oh fuck me…

[So it's true then.]

Thomas wasn't sure which part of the situation, Jimmy's account or Charles's identity, his subconscious had somehow maintained a dubious opinion of; but there it was. The dress that had launched a thousand 'ships' so to speak.

_Or at least a couple of hundred._

Thomas thought dimly.

_Why is it still here?_

That query came out of nowhere and gave Thomas pause, staring at the flash of white amid the grey and brown, naturally all others being men's clothes.

The 'event' had been years ago, and clearly even with the large size of the wardrobe Charles was pushed for space. So why keep it hanging there?

_Still mourning for his wife?_

_[Funny way of going about it.]_

_A trophy._

_[Sure, as if Jimmy meant that much to him in the grand scheme of things.]_

Thomas blinked. Where had THAT come from?

He supposed he _did _know that. Or thought he did. And that was another reason he hated Charles as much as he did. But it was a surprise to hear the thought crystallised in such a manner.

_[Tick tock…]_

_[How long does it usually take one to locate and use a bathroom?]_

_[And how far away DID Gertrude say Mr Carter was from the house?]_

Thomas had no idea how long he had been standing there. Achieving nothing.

He grasped the hangers either side of the doubled over wedding dress and pushed them away.

His face twisted.

Even doubled over in the wardrobe and partially concealed within a dust-cover the dress was hideous.

Or rather, exactly the sort of thing a young woman might want should she pay far too much attention to people _telling _her what a young woman should want.

Lace and beads, overlain with more lace and beads, trimmed with a smattering of lace and beads, and all cocooned round far too much fabric.

Thomas's opinion regarding the merits of men dressing up in women's clothing had never really had occasion to develop during his exploits. But the sheer, gaudy, hyper-femininity of this particular dress (a _princess_ dress) had him quite convinced he couldn't abide the idea one bit. The dress was too female, too…_wrong_. He couldn't stand or stomach the idea of a _man_ wearing it.

_[Are you sure?]_

Realising he had been staring, and loosing more precious seconds (minutes?) Thomas forced himself to turn back to the task in hand.

_Get it down._

_Get it in a bag._

_Job done._

_[Yes, and THEN what?]_

Thomas reached out, avoiding touching the fabric of the dress itself for the present, and, after a moment's hesitation and a split second of mania, gripped the thin fabric of the dust cover and ripped it from base to top. He folded it back to get a better look at the crumpled dress.

Steeling himself he reached out one hand to unfold the bodice, holding it up against the top of the wardrobe and use the other hand to stretch out the skirts.

Thomas's lips disappeared as he sucked them into his mouth to bite them both together.

It wasn't that he feared he might scream or make some other loud exclamation, if anything he was doing it because he _couldn't_ think of anything to say. And he was rather uncomfortable about that fact. Because he _should_ have something to say.

He did feel sick though; would have hurled his guts up a while ago had it been convenient, so that was something.

He released his hold on the skirts, running his fingers and palm slowly up the roughness of the beads (some of them broken) and nestled embroidery towards the waist; his other hand still propping the bodice up against the top of the wardrobe.

Suddenly his subconscious decided to break through to gift, and simultaneously punish, him with what he hadn't been willing to admit he actually wanted; an image of Jimmy in the dress. But it was more than that.

To his disgust and terror, Thomas found himself briefly clasping 'Jimmy's' partially exposed shoulder with one hand and the protrusion of 'Jimmy's' hips with the other; the squareness of his hips emphasised by the excess of fabric, trying to emphasise curves that weren't there. As for 'Jimmy' himself, he hung there in the wardrobe; bent at a grotesque angle, looking somewhere between open-eyed sleep and death.

Thomas shouted. He couldn't help it.

He dropped his hands from the dress as though burned, accidently dislodging the hanger and sending the whole mountain of fabric to the shoes at the bottom of the wardrobe.

He backed away.

Hand over his mouth he shook his head violently, shaken by the realisation of how much the situation was now disturbing _him_ as well as Jimmy.

'What…Who are you?' A voice demanded, evidently undecided as to whether the purpose or the identity of the interloper was currently the most pressing issue.

Thomas's head snapped around towards the door.

He relaxed (as much as possible under the circumstances) upon realising that the figure in the doorway was most definitely _not _Mr Charles Carter.

He was dark rather than fair haired, and young. Far too young to be the described man. But his style of dress unequivocally said he wasn't 'staff'.

'Who are you?' Thomas countered without pausing to think of a more politic or elegant response.

'I live here!' Exclaimed the young man, 'boy' Thomas soon corrected himself. 'Who. Are. You?' He said stubbornly.

'Inspector Locke.' The lie was out of Thomas's mouth before he had time to consider it. But he quickly realised it was perfect.

'Inspector?' Said the boy, suddenly looking unsure of himself at being informed he was in the company of _authority_.

'Yes.' Said Thomas. 'With the Manchester Police.' He said, drawing himself up to full height, adjusting the lapels of his blazer in what he hoped was a convincing manner, dearly hoping the boy wouldn't request anything by way of proof, and trying not to look too sheepish about the wedding dress cascading onto the floor from the bottom of the wardrobe.

The boy didn't ask for proof.

'So…' Said Thomas, his eyes drifting down to the small pile of books clutched in the boy's hands. 'I'll ask again, who are you?'

'Peter.' He said immediately.

'Peter what?' Said Thomas.

'Peter…Carter.'

Even without the pause Thomas would have known he was lying. The word 'Carter' on Peter's lips sounded foreign and forced.

Thomas shook his head slowly, eyes fixed on Peter's.

He hadn't paid much attention at the time, but found himself suddenly struggling to recall Alfred's story of being shown to the lake by Mr Carter's son. He dearly hoped that Matthew and Alfred's assertions of Mr Carter's role as a 'family' man could somehow be reconciled with the current situation. But the name 'Peter' rang far too much of a bell for Thomas to convince himself Alfred had been speaking about someone else.

_There's always adoption…_

_[And I'm the Queen of England...]_

Thomas winced at the unintentional reminder of Jimmy. But he quickly recovered. The situation demanded it.

'So who are you to Mr Carter?' Said Thomas. 'Nephew?' Knowing the answer he would receive.

'No, I'm his…' Peter stopped, evidently unable to actually vocalise the lie under Thomas's intense scrutiny.

'You're not his son.' Thomas eventually said into the silence.

'How do you know?' Said Peter sharply, recovering a little of his earlier stubborn bravado.

'Because I have it on good authority from a friend of mine that Mr Carter and his wife never had any children.' Thomas said simply.

The boys face fell.

'How…' Thomas hesitated, the seed of suspicion in his gut rapidly growing into something most unwelcome. And if he was right, one factor stood out above all others. 'How old are you?'

'What business is that of yours?' Said Peter defiantly, his lips pursed.

It didn't matter, not really. Thomas already knew the answer (_Too young…_)

'I'm here with Mr Crawley, you remember him don't you?' Said Thomas, hoping to strengthen his credibility by association. Peter nodded. 'Well I've come here with Mr Crawley because Mr Carter is under investigation by the police.' Said Thomas, blanching a little at the realisation of just how much trouble he was going to be in with Matthew, and possibly the _actual_ police, should his theory prove to be wrong (possibly even if it were proved _right_) 'So tell me, who are you?'

'Peter Comfrey.' Came the sullen and reluctant response.

'And tell me, Peter Comfrey, how did you come to live with Mr Carter?'

Peter remained silent, staring at the floor.

'You won't be in any trouble you know.'

_At least no more than you're already in…_

Still nothing.

'Do you have parents?' Said Thomas tentatively.

Peter nodded.

'Do they know you're here?'

After a pause, Peter shook his head.

'Where do they think you are?'

'Boarding school.' Said Peter miserably.

_Oh God give me strength…_

'And why are you _not_ at school, Peter?' Said Thomas, glancing over at the clock on the bureau and suffering a brief panic at the realisation he had been upstairs for almost half an hour. It was a near miracle that none of the others had come looking for him. But, on the plus side, that most likely meant that Mr Carter hadn't yet made it home. Hopefully.

Peter mumbled something to the books clutched in his hands.

'Sorry?' Said Thomas.

'I got expelled.' Peter repeated a little louder, looking as though he wished the floorboards would swallow him whole. But there was a hint of nasty defiance behind the revelation nonetheless.

'Right. Alright.' Said Thomas slowly, making a mental note to induce himself to vomit that evening if it didn't happen naturally beforehand. 'Where does Mr Carter fit into this?'

Peter's mood instantly brightened.

'Oh he saved my bacon! He's a governor at the school you see. Only one that ever talks any sense at the assemblies…Anyway, when he found out the…' Peter gritted his teeth, his expression briefly obtaining a darkness and bitterness more suited to one at least a decade and a half older. '…IDIOTS had decided I should leave the school…'

At this moment Thomas decided he really _really_ didn't like Peter.

He also realised that somehow he, Thomas, had been cast, rather unusually and unexpectedly, in the role of 'adult', responsible adult (whatever that meant), a protector of sorts, and consequently couldn't let Peter's grating personality affect his handling of the situation. Not that there was any real danger of him doing so; morally lax though he may be as a person at times, he nevertheless followed a basic and personal code of conduct, whose grounding principles were fairly unassailable. But it was strange to think of himself as the (potential) hero in a story for a change, rather than the trickster, even if he had no bloody idea how to go about addressing this particularly distasteful challenge.

'…he said I could come and stay with him while I worked out what to do next.' Said Peter.

'Does the school know he did that?' Said Thomas, fighting to keep his voice level.

'Christ no!' Peter exclaimed.

_So the school don't know. Your parent's don't know._

_No wonder he's had you play the role of 'son' (or 'long lost nephew e.t.c.' for the villagers, no doubt)_

_Half the soding Yorkshire Police force were probably out looking for 'Peter Comfrey'._

Thomas dropped his head into his hand, pretending to be scratching an itch at the side of his nose. As he raised his head back up his eyes came to rest on the books Peter still held in his hands.

'Read to Mr Carter a lot do you?'

'Yes.' Said Peter, looking confused at Thomas having surmised this from the evidence available. 'I was just going over these to see which would be best for tonight. I just came to put them back…'

'Ever fall asleep in here?' Said Thomas bluntly, unable to stomach the amount of effort that would have been required to pussy-foot round the issue. 'You know, after you're done reading?' Despite every instinct to the contrary, Thomas put every effort into NOT making the word 'reading' sound like a euphemism for something else, because, all things considered, he REALLY didn't want it to be.

'No. Why would I?' Peter frowned, confused. 'I have my own bed just upstairs.'

'Of course you do.' Thomas said quickly, relieved on one score, terrified on so many others. He took a deep breath. 'Peter, has Mr Carter eve said to you that you should go back to your parents? Or at least tell them what happened and where you are?'

'No. _He_ understands.' Said Peter.

'Right…' Thomas said slowly.

Unsure of his next move, Thomas bent down to retrieve the wedding dress and the remnants of the dust-cover from the bottom of the wardrobe.

'What happened there?' Said Peter, sidestepping the open wardrobe door and peering at the torn dust-cover.

'It's…uh…I can't discuss it, I'm afraid.' Said Thomas in his best 'authoritative policeman' impression, wrestling the fabric onto the bed.

'That's…hideous!' Said Peter in alarm.

'Never seen it laid out before?'

'No. Christ!' Peter moved in for a closer look. 'Woman walks down the aisle wearing _that_, I run in the other direction! Jeeeeesus.'

Thomas bit his tongue to avoid informing Peter that unless he outgrew his stroppy attitude and changeable mood swings he was likely to have to take whatever he could get as far as his future spouse was concerned. But he was glad Peter genuinely seemed to be seeing the dress for the first time (even if he now thought he had answered the riddle as to why it was still here…)

[But there are OTHER ways to skin a cat, aren't there Thomas?]

'Do you have a bag I could use?' Thomas said, folding up the dress far too efficiently for a Police Inspector. Not that Peter seemed to notice. 'I need to take this away…for evidence.'

'I do…' Said Peter, staring dubiously at Thomas as he reduced the size of the dress by at least three quarters on the bedspread. 'I…um…' He blinked, reminding himself not to query the words of a policeman (a sense of respect for authority which clearly didn't extend to teachers). 'Mr Carter bought me a lot of new clothes when I first came here, the bags are still at the top of my wardrobe.'

'Perfect.' Said Thomas, holding off from making the final few folds for the present, knowing he would need to practically sit on the dress to keep it compacted until he could actually get it into the bag, and unwilling to do it until a bag was in evidence. 'That's very nice of Mr Carter to buy you new clothes.' He said dully.

'Had to. I left all my old bits at the dormitory. Wasn't about to go back there after what the IDIOTS said.'

Thomas decided he really didn't want to know what the 'IDIOTS' had said.

'Still…' Thomas prompted, highly unwillingly. '…that was good of Mr Carter all the same.'

'He enjoys buying things.' Peter said with a shrug. 'For me, anyway. And he's really good with the fashions…'

Thomas briefly glanced over at the uninspiring collection of brown and grey in Mr Carter's wardrobe.

'…helps me pick out what goes with what. Like this.' Peter tucked the books he had been clutching at his stomach under one arm and gave a half-twirl to show off the smart blue jacket and grey trouser combination he was wearing.

_Vain one aren't we…?_

'Tells you what looks good does he?' Said Thomas.

'Oh yes. Sometimes it takes almost an hour of trying things on before we find something we are both happy with.' Peter chuckled, running an affectionate hand down the piping around the edges of his jacket.

'And he's happy to just sit there for an hour watching you get changed is he?'

Peter nodded, beaming proudly.

_[Safe to say there are now TWO things you're not leaving this house without.]_

_Christ…_


	77. Our Interest - Chapter 77

**Our Interest – Chapter 77**

'Peter…' Thomas began, his pulse hammering more insistently in his throat with every passing minute, knowing he was now more than pushing his luck time-wise. Not to mention in other regards. '…you have to go back to your parents.'

'I can't.' Said Peter, suddenly looking fearful of Thomas's power, as a _policeman_, to compel him to do so. Thomas almost found himself envying the simplicity of Peter's mind; policemen, all powerful; teachers, IDIOTS; old men with a penchant for spending money, guardian angels…

_But 'can't' rather than 'won't' though._

_Alright…_

'Why can't you, Peter?' Said Thomas gently, trying not to let his rising panic that Mr Carter (or Matthew) might appear in the doorway at any moment show in his voice.

Peter pursed his lips again, looking like he was about to go into a sulk. But Thomas couldn't help but be moved by the raw misery in his eyes.

'They'll kill me.' Said Peter, briefly glancing up at Thomas, a complete stranger, as though begging him to contradict the notion. 'They…they worked so hard to pay the moment for me to go to that school.'

Thomas was pleasantly surprised by the small element of self-awareness and humanity in Peter's sadness, particularly as the boy had now actually begun to cry, even if his appreciation for his parent's sacrifice was tied up with a purely selfish fear for himself.

_God, his moods have more ups and downs than a funfair ride…And drop just as quick._

'I can't go back and tell them I wasted it.' Said Peter, shaking his head. 'I thought, maybe, I could get the money back for the rest of the terms; for the rest of the year that I wouldn't be there. That would have been something at least. But they said no. The IDIOTS said no…'

'Money.' Thomas muttered, marvelling at the potential simplicity of the situation. 'What if I could give you the money, or some of it anyway?' He said, the thought of Anstruther's unwelcome financial contribution (still sitting in his underwear drawer where he had first put it) suddenly at the forefront of his mind. 'Then you cold go back to them and pretend that the school did return the money. I'd wager they'll still want to skin you alive for being thrown out…'

_…although right now I'd wager that they and the school are more preoccupied with looking for you…_

'…but at least the money would take some of the sting away. They'd be no worse off than before. And then you could think about what kind of job you want.' Thomas paused before adding. 'Mr Carter hasn't been encouraging you to find a career, has he?'

Peter shook his head, clearly finding the notion of starting out in the world of work to be a new one. 'No…no, but he said I can stay as long as I like…' His eyes looked through Thomas rather than at him and his voice sounded vacant, evidently seriously considering Thomas's offer. Although Thomas correctly surmised that Peter was also torn between the notion of returning to his parents and the carte blanche-esque existence of leisure offered by Mr Carter.

'Well?' Said Thomas, sneaking another look at the clock at the sound of a particularly insistent (if completely natural) creak from the doorframe. 'Will you go back to your parents?'

Peter twisted his mouth and shook his head. 'Wouldn't be right. Not right now. I couldn't just leave Mr Carter. Not when he's been so kind.'

_Meaning he's sunk his perfectly pleasant claws so far into your skin that you can't imagine life without him…_

'Peter, just think. If I give you the money you can go back to them right now; tomorrow if not today. Mr Crawley will see to it that there's a car to take you (_I hope_). Don't you _want_ to see them?'

'But Mr Carter…'

'Mr Carter is under investigation by the police, and soon to be arrested.' Thomas gave a violent cough, chocking on his own lie. He knew he had well and truly crossed over any line of acceptability. 'And this household will be at an end.'

'What?' Peter's eyes were again wide and fearful.

'That's how it is.' Thomas lied through his teeth. 'They'll be taking him away, maybe even tonight. Now I can't discuss with you what it's about…' He continued, deciding that sounded more credible than any story he could concoct. '…but you'd be best off being away from here when that happens or they might take you too.'

'Shit…' Said Peter, horror-struck. The course language sounding alien from one so young.

'You going to come then?'

'Come where?'

'Well you go get anything you want to bring it with you and we will drive you to Downton where Mr Crawley lives. Then I can give you the money and we can drive you to a station, or your parent's house…whichever you choose.'

_It'll be your parent's house._

'Gosh…right. Right away!' Exclaimed Peter, unceremoniously dumping the books onto the floor and turning to head back up the way he had come to the second floor. 'Is Mr Crawley's car outside?'

'Right outside.'

_And you still haven't asked me for any PROOF of who I am or what I'm doing here. _

_From one strange man to another. _

_Christ, Peter…just…Christ._

'And Peter.' Thomas called after him. '…if you could bring me one of those clothes bags you mentioned for this…' He indicated the wedding dress. '…I'd be very grateful.'

'Right away, Inspector Locke.'

Thomas blinked and was about to ask who 'Inspector Locke' was before his brain sharply reminded him. He listened as Peter bounded up the stairs to the floor above, desperately watching the clock and the door in anticipation of Mr Carter's return.

By some miracle, the man was still nowhere to be seen or heard as Thomas made his way downstairs; packaged up dress and wayward schoolboy in tow.

He paused silently at the doorway to the parlour, steeling himself to enter.

_Mr Crawley, I've got a good 'un for ya._

Thomas decided there and then, heart still pounding at his eardrums, that, after this, he was _done_ with the 'Good Samaritan' bullshit – it was far more trouble than it was worth.


	78. Our Interest - Chapter 78

**Our Interest – Chapter 78**

'THOMAS have you COMPLETELY taken leave of your FUC…' Matthew was on his feet, and in Thomas's face, before Thomas had even managed to fully open the door.

For the briefest moment, Thomas froze. Matthew had moved so fast that he only had time to register the blonde hair and the level of agitation, and was nigh on convinced he was being advanced upon by Mr Carter himself; that he had blond hair was one of the few things appearance wise that Thomas could remember, and he had _never_ seen Matthew in such an…undignified…state before.

The sight of Peter, peering out from behind Thomas's back abruptly put a halt to Matthew's fury. 'Hello.' Matthew said shakily, face stretched into a wide 'smile'. 'And how are you today?'

Thomas gave a small prayer of thanks that Matthew had been angry enough to dispense with the niceties of 'Mr Barrow' in favour of Thomas; explaining how 'Inspector Locke' had suddenly become 'Mr Barrow' would have thrown something of a spanner in the works.

Peter shrank back from Matthew's attempt at pleasantness, which wasn't nearly as reassuring and natural as Matthew had hoped it would be following his outburst.

'Peter's coming with us.' Thomas said, speaking to Alfred and Bates, who remained in the seats where he'd left them, as much as Matthew who stood before him. 'To Downton.'

'Thomas, dear fellow…' Matthew drawled through the fixed smile on his face, leading Thomas a little way away from Peter with a firm grip on his wrist to stand in the corner of the room by the cabinet. He slid an arm around Thomas's shoulders to create a shield from the others in the room before hissing in a low whisper. '…are you seriously trying to inform me that you intend to kidnap the man's son?'

'Mr Crawley…' Thomas began softly.

'And you expect _me_ to go along with it!?' Matthew cut in incredulously. 'What in the name of God has gotten into you Thomas?' He whispered harshly, not sounding even the slightest bit himself. 'This has gone quite far enough! I cannot believe you would sink so low as to attempt to meddle with a man's son because of your personal, and might I add, unsubstantiated, vendetta.'

Thomas took far more pleasure than he knew he should in his response.

'That…' He said oh-so slowly. '…is _not _Mr Carter's son.'

'That…?' Matthew began. '…What?' He released his hold on Thomas's shoulder to pop his head up and peer across the room at Peter. He quickly ducked back down, his head at the height of Thomas's shoulder as he practically pulled Thomas double to whisper in his ear. 'Are you…are you quite sure?'

'What's your name boy?' Thomas called out, not bothering to extract himself from Matthew's grip to turn around. There wasn't much call for delicacy. It wasn't like Peter could be under any illusions as regards the topic of discussion given Matthew's highly unsubtle staring a moment ago.

'Peter Comfrey.' Peter called back.

Matthew's eyes met Thomas's. Thomas raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.

'Mr Carter is a governor at Peter's old school.' Thomas explained as Matthew stood up straight, turning back to stare at Peter again. 'When Peter here got expelled Mr Carter was _kind _enough…' Thomas couldn't quite resist a dark emphasis on the word 'kind'. '…to let Peter come and live with him…so that he didn't have to tell his parents.'

Peter squirmed a little as Matthew continued to stare at him, as though in a daze.

'But Peter and I have agreed it's time to go home now…' Said Thomas. '…isn't that right, Peter?'

Peter nodded.

Matthew turned to Thomas, asking 'the question' with his eyes alone. His mouth still rendered quite mute. Thomas met his eyes unflinchingly, answering.

_No. _

_But it's on the cards._

Thomas didn't think he had ever seen a grown man look so fearful and lost.

'Alfred…' Said Matthew softly, his voice still not sounding his own but this time for quite different reasons. He coughed to clear his throat. '…would you be so kind as to escort Master Comfrey and his things out to the car.' He spoke vacantly, somehow not looking at anyone directly in the now fairly crowded room. 'And then instruct the driver to wait around the corner, out of sight of the house, until we are ready to join him.'

'Yes, Mr Crawley.' Alfred said, his voice far more gravelly than usual, as he rose carefully from his seat by the fireplace.

Thomas wasn't entirely sure how much of the situation Alfred comprehended, but he made a mental note to speak with him about it later as Alfred walked slowly past him, motioning for Peter to lead the way out of the house.

Thomas glanced at Bates.

He'd got it.

'Alfred.' Thomas called out, though keeping his voice low enough so as to avoid alerting Gertrude that something was 'happening' in 'her' hallway. 'Could you take that too?' He indicated the tan coloured bag that he had propped against the bottom step of the staircase.

'Of course.'

Thomas's heart gave a lurch as he half expected Alfred to add 'Mr Barrow', but he didn't.

'And…' Thomas stepped forwards as Alfred picked up the bag and went to follow Peter. '…don't look in it. Please.'

Alfred gave a small nod.

Clutching the bag tightly to his side, Alfred slipped out of the front door, closing it quietly behind him.

Thomas walked back into the parlour, bypassing the mute and stock-still figure of Mr Crawley. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep his fingers from trembling as he cast his eyes upwards.

_A few more minutes. Please God a few more minutes. _

_Don't let him meet them on the street._

_Don't let him see…_

Thomas relaxed as he heard the sound of the motor starting up. A few moments later the car slipped out of sight of the net curtains and drove on down the road.

_Thank you._

'Right…well…' Matthew cleared his throat again. He walked back to his seat, ignoring the presence of Thomas and Bates. 'Best get these in order…' He mumbled to himself, hands unsteadily pulling yet more papers from his satchel and fanning them out on the table in front of him. 'Yes. Let's get this all in order…lots to get in order…'

Thomas and Bates watched him for a while, but it was very evident he was not talking to them.

Then they turned to each other.

'Are you alright?' Bates asked without any words at all, still remaining in his inconspicuous position seated by the side of the door, his cane neatly propped beside him.

Thomas gave two brisk nods of his head.

_But HE won't be. _

Each recognised the fire in the other's eyes that signalled the shared thought. Such a moment of synchronicity would have been endearing or amusing under any other circumstances; at that moment it simply served as the reassurance Thomas needed to set his jaw and take up position standing in front of the doorway. Ready.

He stood as he hadn't done since the war. A stance that held a solidity and sense of pride that had been too often absent in the years since it's close.

Not even the ostentaceous curiosity-cabinet of painted plates and bowls at his back could detract from one registering the sense of foreboding in his countenance.

He didn't falter at the sound of the front door opening.

'Helloooo!' Called a male voice from the hallway. 'Mrs Baaaaaum? I have some presents for yoooou!'

After a brief and hurried shuffling, a female voice joined the owner of the sickly sweet sing-song voice.

A few moments of conversation later established that Mr Carter had indeed made it home, and that whomever he had been visiting had seen fit to present him with a number of game birds, birds he expected the lovely Mrs Gertrude Baum to somehow incorporate into dinner that evening.

He spoke a mile a minute, thus it was some time before Gertrude could inform him that he had guests in the parlour.

'What?' Thomas heard Charles say, suddenly lowering his voice. 'He's here? But I thought I saw…Oh, never mind.'

Heavy footsteps sounded just outside the doorway.

_Come on in. You son of a bitch._

'MR CRAWLEY! What a lovely surprise!' Announced Charles as he entered the room with a flourish, arms outstretched and palms upright in a gesture of supplication. 'I thought I had missed you when I saw your car heading away down the road! You _must_ excuse my horrendous tardiness! I got _quite_ held up with the Harleths. It is terribly good of you to have waited. Has Mrs Baum brought you a drink? Oh…' He continued without waiting for a response. '…not brought the usual chap then?' Charles said, looking between Thomas and Bates.

When Matthew offered no immediate response, Charles looked between Thomas and Bates again, his smile faltering; evidently a little unnerved at the lack of expression on their faces, and their silence.

'Mr Carter.' Said Matthew quietly without looking up from his papers. 'I believe my colleague has a matter he wishes to discuss with you.'

'Does he now…?' Said Charles, smiling as though Matthew had made a fine joke, naturally looking to Bates as the elder (and the seated) and therefore, evidently, the superior.

'Yes. He does.' Said Thomas sharply, smiling thinly as Charles spun about to face him.

_Plain as anything._

That was the first thought that came to mind. The man was plain. Not ugly per se. But utterly unremarkable. Thomas couldn't imagine such a creature tugging at anyone's heart strings, let alone someone as vain as Jimmy.

_[IS he vain though?]_

Thomas tilted his head a little, pondering the question. Amid the chaos of the circumstances under which they had first begun their relationship, and the confusion amid which it had ended, Thomas realised he still hadn't managed to get a handle on Jimmy himself.

_Spose it would take a special kind of person to love a man with nothing going for him by way of looks…_

Though Thomas couldn't help but acknowledge that thought said more about _him_ than about Jimmy.

He realised he had been stood there a while, not saying anything, and abruptly brought his focus back to the matter at hand. From the look on Charles's face, his continued silence had had the unintentional (but welcome) effect of putting the man very much on edge.

But Charles wasn't just unnerved. He was looking at him. Really _looking_. Checking.

'Oh you absolute _bastard_.' Gasped Thomas.

That startled Charles back to the present. 'I _beg_ your pardon!' He said in a shocked voice that was more put on than genuine.

'I'm not one of yours.' Said Thomas darkly. 'So you can stop trying to remember.'

'I can't imagine what you…'

'Tell me…' Thomas cut in. '…is it _just_ old war comrades and schoolboys? Or can any vulnerable young man find a place here? Provided he's homeless, broke and alone…naturally.'

_And too sweet or simple to say 'no'._

'I don't know what you mean.' Said Charles, sharply emphasising each word. But he made no effort to hide the amusement in his eyes at Thomas's festering rage. He tutted. 'My my, who's been telling tales?' He glanced sideways at Matthew and Bates with a warm smile that invited them both to share in his amusement at the silly misinformed man, spouting rubbish, before him.

'Well Peter Comfrey has been removed from this household for one thing.' Thomas said flatly.

Charles's smile faltered.

'That boy…' Said Charles merrily. '…I did my best to convince him to go back to his parents.' He shrugged and gave an exaggerated sigh. 'But such rebellious and untrustworthy creatures as those who get expelled from school just won't be told, will they? It's _such_ a good thing I was there to help. Otherwise just think of what might have happened!' He simpered, speaking as though for an imaginary court, his eyes bright and challenging, _daring_ Thomas to attempt to claim otherwise.

Thomas pressed on, feeling as though something cold and slimy were running in drips down his back the longer he looked and listened to Charles.

_Monster._

'What a good thing you were there for Jimmy Kent when he needed you.' He said flatly.

_And I swear to God if you don't remember him…_

It speedily became apparent that Charles _did_. And he had no qualms about Thomas knowing it. His eyes rolled and he took a languid exhale, his face the picture of bliss, as though experiencing some quiet but potent orgasm. The whole thing was orchestrated so that Thomas alone would see.

'Ah yes.' Charles said brightly for the benefit of the other occupants of the room. 'Terrible business about his parents. First his father in the war then his mother to the flu? Such rotten luck for a young lad. I did what I could, but it wasn't long before he wanted to go and try his luck in the world.' He gave another overcooked sigh. 'I only hope things worked out for the poor thing. I do hope he doesn't blame me for letting him go if things haven't worked out…' Charles trailed off, the same simpering tone, the same challenging look.

For a moment the room was silent.

'Are you even human?' Thomas said quietly.

Charles glanced over at Matthew again, finding him still staring down at his papers, disinterested in the conversation, but he shot him another 'Goodness, would you _hear_ the things this idiot has to say!' look of amusement nonetheless. He didn't bother to send a similar look in Bates's direction, apparently sensing that it would have no impact, but being strangely unconcerned on that account.

_You've been challenged about your 'charity cases' before haven't you?_

_And you've gotten away with it every soding time._

'I am a creature of flesh and blood, yes.' Said Charles with a patronising smile.

'Do you know what happened to Jimmy after you threw him out?'

'I just told you I didn't throw him out, my dear.' Said Charles. 'And it's no business of mine what happened after he left.'

Thomas had expected it, but the proof that Charles genuinely had no interest in the question stung all the same.

'How can you not care?' Thomas said in a small voice, staring.

'My dear, I don't know quite what you are expecting from me…' Said Charles, perfectly pleasant…perfectly dismissive.

_Well I think that's quite enough rational discussion on the matter. _

'You've ruined his fucking LIFE!' Thomas shouted.

He pressed his fingernails into his palms, eyes wide and fixed on Charles's ruddy face.

Charles gave absolutely no reaction whatsoever. Giving not the tiniest flinch at the sudden and loud exclamation; remaining smiling, placid, and utterly INFURIATING.

'HOW CAN YOU NOT CARE!?' Thomas bellowed. 'You KNOW what you did! You sick smug BASTARD! You…'

'Thomas!'

Thomas stopped, chest heaving painfully with breath stored to give full volume to his anger. He turned to Matthew.

'That's quite enough of that, I think.' Said Matthew.

'You can't be serious!' Thomas said, staring at him in disbelief, his mind still ripe with things he wanted to make damn sure Charles heard, his lungs still primed to deliver them.

'I said…' Matthew repeated firmly. '…that's quite enough of that.'

'But I haven't…'

_…finished._

Thomas looked across the room to Bates for support.

But Bates was busy looking curiously at Matthew.

'Mr Carter and I have business to discuss.' Said Matthew, offering a reassuring and apologetic smile to Charles.

'Well, _Thomas_, it's been a pleasure speaking with you.' Drawled Charles as he thudded across the floor to the chair opposite Matthew.

'You can't just…' Thomas began desperately, entreating Matthew, suddenly feeling dangerously close to tears, his pent up rage an uncomfortable globule in his throat.

'Come and sit by me.' Said Bates calmly as Matthew ignored Thomas.

'But…' Thomas's voice completely broke.

'Sit by me.' Bates said again.

Thomas did. There wasn't much else he could do. He realised he was in shock, but the realisation did nothing to help the feeling of disoriented numbness. The room swam a little as he crossed over to take a seat next to Bates on the chaise longue by the door. He stared across at the figures of Matthew and Charles, seated opposite one another with the small wooden coffee table moved between them.

'So…' Charles said pleasantly, giving a quick tug to his trouser fabric and puffing out the back of his blazer as though wearing a tail-coat before sitting down with just as much flourish as he had entered the room. '…how have things been progressing with the new tenancy agreement, Mr Crawley?'

'Very well.' Matthew ghosted his fingers over the papers in front of him as he spoke. 'For the rest of the estate, at any rate.'

'I'm sorry?' Said Charles, still smiling.

'I have bad news for you. I'm terribly sorry.' Said Matthew, without any kind of inflection.

'What _kind_ of 'bad news', Mr Crawley?' The smile was still there.

'It would appear…' Matthew said slowly. '…that it will not be possible to overlook the payments that should have been collected from this household over the past…' He glanced down at the uppermost sheet of paper. '…forty-three years.'

Thomas blinked.

_Did he just…?_

'But it _is_…' Said Charles, the smile clinging on grimly. '…that's what was _agreed_. For me, for _all_ of us. The managers and ourselves negotiate new tenancy agreements, and waive the payments that went uncollected under the _old_ system. And you've already assured me that this will be possible old boy…'

'It's 'Mr Crawley'.' Said Matthew flatly. 'And perhaps you misunderstand me…' He shuffled the papers on the desk. 'The crux of the matter is that I am no longer inclined to include you within my client base.'

_WHAT did he just say?_

'My my…' Thomas was too transfixed by the unflagging smile on Charles's face to fully take in the situation. '…well it looks like I'll be needing to get my own lawyer won't I _My Crawley_?' Charles said, utterly un-thrown, a venomous edge creeping into his voice. 'And I'll be taking those lovely papers you've been working on on my behalf, naturally, to help the new chap along…'

'By all means.' Said Matthew, his hands flying over the jumble of pages in front of him to pull out the relevant documents. 'But I invite you bare in mind the following…' He said warmly. '…Firstly that my fees are currently being covered by the estate as tenants such as yourselves, even those of considerable means, such as yourself, couldn't possibly hope to afford comparable services. Secondly that your new lawyer will no doubt come up against the same impediment that I did while attempting to argue your specific case with the new managers; namely that your family have been resident in this property since the very beginning of this estate's formation and thus have absolutely no excuse for 'forgetting' to make appropriate payments during the bureaucratic laxity of more recent years…' Matthew held out the papers to Charles. 'And I will of course be speaking to the owners to inform them that, as the largest single property on the estate, it would be in their best interests to hold you to the back-payments due. You will loose the house of course…'

Thomas's fingers twitched on the cushioned fabric beneath them, quite naturally finding the back of Bates's hand.

'…but you _may_ avoid prison if you have sufficient additional assets to compensate the owners of the estate. Anyway, then they will be in the happy position of being able to destroy the current house and reform the property as a set of small holdings to increase the residency in this area of the estate without the need to encroach further onto the farmland.'

'You…' Charles made no move to take the offered papers. 'You can't do this.' _Finally_ the smile was gone.

Matthew dropped them unceremoniously onto the floorboards and began to sweep the others back into his satchel, not bothering to respond.

'Has _he _put you up to this!?' Charles exclaimed, jabbing a finger in Thomas's direction. Thomas jumped a little, stirred out of his stunned reverie. 'Because it's not true what he says! _Whatever_ he says!'

'I won't lie to you Mr Carter; this has _nothing_ to do with the estate and _everything_ to do with your despicable treatment of Mr Kent.' Matthew stood up briskly. 'But good luck proving that in a way that doesn't implicate yourself to hell and high water.'

Thomas's eyes widened.

_Oh I'm going to kiss you so hard it'll leave a HUGE bruise!_

Charles sprang out of his chair.

Bates instantly did the same.

Thomas felt he ought to as well, for solidarity.

Charles decided against whatever he had been intending to do to Matthew and instead glared at Thomas.

'Your slut now, is he?' He said cruelly, abandoning pretences. 'That's what this is about, is it?'

Thomas was not inclined to give _any_ response to that.

_But since we're in a sharing mood…_

'Was there ever a wife?' Thomas asked.

Charles paused. 'Yes, there was a wife.'

'I suppose that was a happy marriage.' Said Thomas coldly.

That got Charles's blood up. 'Don't you DARE presume to speak on my affairs! You have NO comprehension of how hard it has been to…'

'You attempt to justify or rationalise your actions or attitude, I will kill you.' Said Thomas plainly, surprising himself as much as the others with the earnestness of the sentiment.

Charles gave a low whistle, instantly back to his unpleasant self. 'Down kitten…' He mocked softly, taking a few steps across the room as though making for the door.

Thomas took a deep breath, unconsciously moving to stand between Charles and the exit.

'I don't know why Jimmy's put you up to this.' Charles continued, not so much stepping as slinking towards Thomas. 'But you needn't indulge him. Believe me when I say you can get anything you want from that one without giving a thing in return.'

Thomas had no idea what the other two men were doing, but he knew his hands had formed tight fists at his side.

_Just give me a little more…bring the red haze down…come on…just a little…_

But Charles had stopped talking.

'If you could get anything you wanted from him…' Thomas said, hating himself for doing so. '…then why did you make him leave?'

'Because that gets so very boring, my dear.' Said Charles softly. 'It's funny, you know…' He said with a chuckle. '…all the things Jimmy did to try to get me to let him stay, and he didn't realise that was precisely the reason he just had to go…'

_Come on…give me something…_

'…Hell, if he'd refused the 'farewell fuck' I might have just kept him.'

_That'll do it._

Without a thought for the wellbeing of his shoulder or knuckles, only the desire to split flesh and, if possible, bone, on the face before him, Thomas punched Charles. Hard.

His fist connected with the kind of precision and power that could only be summoned from within the clouding, and simultaneously clarifying, effects of intense rage.

And the skin _did_ split. And something _did_ break.

Charles fell back, his head and flailing right arm striking the glass doors of the cabinet behind him hard enough to smash them.

Then he fell forwards.

The rattled shelves of the cabinet gave way, tipping the contents over Charles's prone figure to break on his back and the ground around him; effectively saving Thomas the trouble of landing additional punches or aiming kicks in order to feel satisfied that the man had been truly galvanised.

From his spot on the floor Charles attempted to raise himself a little, gave up, and let out a low keening wail into the floorboards and china dust.

_Well at least that's a few less things to worry about packing when you move house…_

Thomas glanced over his shoulder to find a smiling Bates behind one and a blank faced Matthew at the other.

'Bloody hell!'

The three of them turned to look at Alfred, who stood looking shell-shocked in the doorway.

'I was just…um…wondering what was taking so long…' Said Alfred, cocking his head to one side to get a better view of the mess on the floor.

'What in heaven's name!?'

The four of them turned to the door on the far side of the room to see Gertrude staring in horror at the sight of Charles laid out on the floor amid the broken plates.

'There was an accident.' Matthew said easily. 'By the way, you're soon to be out of a job. But don't worry. I'm given to understand that the ability to look the other way is highly prized in a Housekeeper…so _you_ should have no trouble finding work.' He added darkly.

'But…' She began.

'Gentlemen, shall we?' Said Matthew brightly, indicating the door.

'I believe we shall.' Thomas agreed happily, stealing one final look at his handiwork before turning to follow the others, finding Bates waiting for him at the doorway with a very satisfied smile on his face.

They made their way down the garden path, not bothering to shut the front door after them, and fell into step down the street.

Though he was at a loss to explain precisely why, Thomas later mused that the sunlit walk back to the car, sandwiched between Bates on one side and Alfred and Matthew on the other, was one of the most triumphant and happy moments of his life.

Even if he did break two knuckles.

He was glad to find both Peter and the tan coloured bag in the car as expected as they approached.

After a bit of shuffling, which involved Bates riding up-front with the driver and Thomas and Peter clutching bags on their laps, everyone was in and the car set off for Downton.

Some way into the journey, after Peter had fallen asleep and Alfred was getting on that way, Matthew turned to Thomas.

'I'd like to talk to him.'

Thomas clutched the bag on his lap a little tighter. 'That would be nice, Mr Crawley. But there's something I need to do first. The state he was in when I last saw him…' Thomas shivered. '…you won't get much out of him. And he won't follow whatever you try to tell him.' Thomas paused, steeling himself. 'Could you…Could you speak to Mr Carson about me having the next couple of days off? I have an idea, you see. I just…I need some time to work on him. I _swear_ it'll be the last time I take off work. And I'll still be on Downton grounds in case there is an emergency. And if I can get him back then…well, then you save yourself the trouble of training a new footman.' Said Thomas, attempting a laugh.

'Of course.' Said Matthew softly, declining to join in the forced laughter.'What are you planning?'


	79. Our Interest - Chapter 79

**Our Interest – Chapter 79**

Thomas didn't go to see Jimmy when they got back, save for the briefest peek into the room to make sure he was still in it, and breathing.

He was, but that was about as good as the news got. Jimmy was in a rotten state, physically he was at the level of grime and emaciation that one would expect from a street urchin, and mentally he was completely incoherent. It was almost a relief when Carson informed him that Dr Clarkson had tried Jimmy with stronger sedative in his absence (one which appeared to be working; at least insomuch as it kept him quiet, Thomas could tell that he still wasn't sleeping), which at least explained his disorientation.

After making it absolutely clear that no further drugs should be administered, and informing Carson that he would not be resuming his duties for a few days to give him time to attend to Jimmy (both points, strangely, not requiring as much back-up from Matthew as Thomas had expected) he turned to the task of putting his plan in motion.

He spent the rest of the day walking outside in the grounds and returned that night having extracted firm promises of two favours from the head gardener Clarence; one relatively small, one large, and both given in gratitude for Thomas having taken on the gardeners as liveried footmen, even if only for a day. Clarence, it would appear, was still 'dining out' on that particular story even months later in the village pub and still beaming every time he told it.

'And that James was so good with helping us with the uniforms!' Clarence gushed. 'Kind lad, that one.'

'Yes.' Thomas agreed absently, his mind already on the morrow, before excusing himself.

The next morning was taken up with the task of returning Peter to his parents' front door.

_Right_ to their front door.

They boy had had something of an enjoyable evening at Downton, staring at the finely dressed figures of Mary and Edith as though beholding creatures from another world and insisting upon being allowed to eat every delicious morsel of the 'exotic' food put before him no matter how surreptitiously Alfred (acting as server along with Carson, in the interests of the household keeping up the pretence of 'Inspector Thomas Locke') tried to clear his plate to enable him to bring in the next course.

For the benefit of Peter's parents, and to avoid any awkward questions that the boy would be unable to cover, Matthew accompanied Thomas and Peter to play the part of school governor. Handing Anstruther's money to them (after a heated argument earlier that morning between himself and Thomas as to whether or not Thomas could actually spare that much money) Matthew delivered the agreed upon story; that Peter, despite his best efforts, was not suited to the school and thus the decision had been made to return him, and the fees for the year, back to his parents. They weren't exactly pleased. But they took the penitent Peter into their house happily enough.

It would appear that his parents _had_ genuinely still thought him to be at school, and thus, after a phone call to the school from 'Inspector Locke' to inform the Headteacher that Peter had been found and returned to his parents (the Headteacher having clearly hoped to locate the boy _before_ contacting his parents about his disappearance), Thomas and Matthew breathed a sigh of relief and allowed themselves to consider the matter to be at a close.

Which left only the _other _matter. The big one.

It was about two hours before dusk, Thomas had checked, when he knocked firmly on Jimmy's bedroom door that evening.

There was no response. He hadn't expected one.

Without further ado Thomas pushed open the door, closed it behind him and gently set down the two bags he was holding.

'Go away Thomas.' The figure under the bunched bedclothes muttered, without emerging to look at him.

Thomas wondered if Jimmy had taken to saying that whoever walked in, or if he had recognised his footsteps. Not that it particularly mattered.

Thomas wrinkled his nose. Ignoring Jimmy for the present he strode across the room to open the window, wide, in an attempt to dispel the staleness that naturally accumulates in a room unaired for a week or so, resident to a sick male occupant. He briefly debated a cigarette, _that_ would certainly make things kinder on his own nostrils, but realised that he hadn't actually had one since that night in the yard with Alfred. And he couldn't quite stomach the idea of a cigarette, at least not until the image of a plain and lecherous monster, smoking, while _watching_ someone who didn't know any better stopped popping unbidden into his head each time he considered it.

'Come on.' Said Thomas, unceremoniously yanking the bedcovers to the foot of the bed on his way over to the wardrobe. 'Time to get dressed.'

'Go away!' Jimmy said in a high pitched whine, throwing an arm up over his head as he burrowed his nose into his pillow, drawing his pyjama-clad knees tighter to his chest as he curled into himself.

'Come on.' Thomas said again, leaving the wardrobe open for the present as he moved over to the chest of drawers and tugged the second one from the top open. He turned back to Jimmy, an undershirt clutched in his hand, and shook his head at the sight of his scrunched up position. 'Well that won't do, will it.' He said, stepping forwards to bend over Jimmy's prone figure, one knee on the mattress to balance himself as he snuck his hands under Jimmy's chin and between his bent arms to work on the buttons of his pyjama top. He hissed in pain as his broken knuckles pressed against the inside of Jimmy's arm, but persevered.

'Get off!' Jimmy mumbled, squirming and twisting to get away, but actually only assisting Thomas in completing his task while doing so.

'There we go.' Said Thomas, pulling the partially unbuttoned shirt off over Jimmy's head. He threw it haphazardly behind him and retrieved the undershirt he had left at the bottom of the bed. Reasoning it would be easier to get it over Jimmy's head and _then_ worry about his arms, rather than attempting to get all three appendages in the correct holes at once, Thomas soon had Jimmy, fidgeting and groaning aside, safely inside the undershirt.

Thomas stood up and returned to the wardrobe, unbalancing Jimmy onto his side at the speed with which he removed his weight from the mattress.

Jimmy pulled himself up, groggy and desperately untidy, save the new undershirt, to peer through half-lidded eyes as Thomas rustled around in his wardrobe to look for a shirt. 'What are you doing?' He said.

'Looking for a shirt.' Said Thomas without turning around.

Jimmy frowned, swaying to one side a little on the bed, catching himself with a quick movement of his arm. 'I don't…' He rubbed at his temple with his free hand. '…I don't have any clean ones.'

'I see…' Said Thomas, grappling with the unsavoury realisation that Jimmy most likely only had clean underthings because he hadn't been bothering to change _them_, as the less visible part of his outfit. 'Well I can lend you one later, but for now it'll have to be a dirty one.' He sank to his knees to paw through the overflowing laundry sack to the side of the wardrobe.

'Thomas…' Said Jimmy, watching him, intensely confused. '…_why_ do I need a shirt?'

'Because we're going out.' Announced Thomas, tossing the first shirt he came across away in disgust. 'And when civilised folks go out, they have to wear clothes.'

'Going out…' Jimmy repeated slowly. 'We're going out…Wait. Am _I_ going out? Why am I going out? Are they sending me away!?' He scrambled unsteadily to the end of the bed, staring at Thomas in alarm.

Thomas grimaced.

_You're really not 'with it' at the moment are you…_

'No. They're not sending you away.' Said Thomas, walking slowly towards him with a semi-acceptable shirt in hand. 'There's just something I've organised for you, for us, that's all. Then we'll come back.' He said soothingly, taking advantage of Jimmy's distracted state to get the shirt on him and button it up.

'Where am I going?' Said Jimmy shakily, sounding on the verge of tears.

'You're not going anywhere. Not by yourself. _We_ are just heading out for a little bit. Alright?' Said Thomas firmly, going back to hunting through Jimmy's room for clothes. 'Now…' He returned with underpants and trousers slung over his arm. '…are you going to please do this yourself?' He said a little pleadingly, holding them out to Jimmy.

Jimmy stared dubiously at the offered garments.

'Jimmy they're not throwing you out. I wouldn't lie about that.'

Jimmy inhaled deeply and gave a slow, exaggerated nod, tugging the clothes off Thomas's arm.

Satisfied Thomas took the opportunity to rummage around for a few items in Jimmy's wardrobe and drawers, depositing them in the second of the two bags he had brought.

'You finished?' He said, turning around only upon receiving a muffled grumble of agreement from Jimmy. 'Good.' He said, walking over to the bed and pulling Jimmy upright with a hand briefly hooked underneath his backside to propel him upwards. 'Almost there…' He said, gathering up the tails of Jimmy's shirt to stuff them into the waistband of his trousers, cursing his painful knuckles (which he was already prone to forgetting about given that a semblance of mobility remained in the two broken ones) as he did so.

Jimmy let him get on with it.

'Where are we going then?' He said dully.

'Out.' Thomas replied simply.

A few minutes later, after adding a waistcoat and jacket to Jimmy's outfit and Thomas insisting on combing Jimmy's hair (which looked as though it were about to start barking at him and scamper off) they left the room.

Mercifully the attic corridor was empty, the rest of the staff busy rushing around downstairs or in the family bedrooms in preparation for the dinner service, and Jimmy seemed perfectly fine, if unsteady, to walk down it. The stairs were an issue, Thomas was unable to keep as close a check on Jimmy's progress as he would have liked because of the two bags he carried, and there was no sure way to guard against bumping into other members of staff. They made it without too much trouble though (and with only minimal contact with maids).

'Just peg it when we get downstairs, yeah?' Thomas whispered to Jimmy as they made the final approach to the kitchens. Bewildered and confused, and highly preoccupied with not falling on the stairs, Jimmy nodded.

They didn't exactly run, but made their way to the back door at such a brisk walk that their presence was registered only in passing by those who happened to glimpse them out of the corner of their eye.

Thankfully there was no one in the yard. Specifically, no _O'Brien_ in the yard.

_That's the last hurdle passed then._

Thought Thomas triumphantly, feeling a little lighter at being free from the confines of the house; and very relieved at having managed to drag the reluctant figure of Jimmy with him.

_Onwards!_

He indicated the pathway with a twist of his head and began to lead the way out of the yard and into the gardens.

'Don't we have to go to the _front _to get the bus?' Said Jimmy groggily, registering with surprise that he _had_ somehow made it down the stairs and out of the house, kicking up little waves of gravel as he scuffed his feet along the path in his efforts to keep up with Thomas.

'We're not getting the bus.' Thomas replied simply, inhaling deeply on the warmth of the late evening summer air.

'But…' Jimmy stumbled a little, trotted a few steps to catch up to Thomas, and grasped his arm for support. '…I don't think I can walk very far.'

His speech was still a little slurred, but Thomas could tell his posture and sharpness had improved exponentially from that observed in the dank attic bedroom after the exertion of getting down the stairs.

Still, he clearly did _need_ to lean on Thomas to walk.

'It's not very far.' Said Thomas reassuringly, swinging the two bags over one shoulder as they walked beside the flowerbeds (full of the reds and oranges of geraniums and marigolds) and then through the gate and on to the small fruit trees at the corner of the second lawn. The overwhelming effect of the plants and the weather was that of Autumn rather than Summer. Everything seemed to have expanded and grown and ripened to it's maximum extent, and there was a slight dampness in the air which put one in mind of rotting leaves or toadstools on the forest floor (most likely because the slight breeze at that time was blowing from the forests at the front of the estate and down towards them at the back) and the fields in view on the horizon were all a deep golden yellow.

_It would be better if it was Spring…Spring's supposed to be better for new starts isn't it?_

_[But you don't have to hold someone as tightly in the warm as in the cold, do you?]_

_Oi, this hasn't got anything to do with THAT. He's upset and I think I can help, that's it._

_[Of course.]_

_And who says I want to do any 'holding'? _

_[Nobody.]_

Thomas glanced down to the top of Jimmy's head, buried against the top of his arm while both of Jimmy's hands clutched his wrist for support as he walked.

He sighed, steering the two of them onto the beaten dirt track that cut across the back of the carefully pruned hedges of the main walkway, glancing up at the lick of lilac hue that had begun to seep into the colour of the sky.

'Almost there.' Thomas said warmly.

They walked through another gate, this one tall, inelegant and partially eaten at the bottom by some woodland creature, and into a wide enclosure, bordered by high fences on three sides and a smattering of woodland and low bushes on the other.

Jimmy peered at the arrangement in the centre of the enclosure.

'I…I don't understand…' He said, craning his neck to look up at Thomas.


	80. Our Interest - Chapter 80

**Our Interest – Chapter 80**

'Well that there's a bonfire.' Thomas said, nodding towards the pyramid of neatly stacked wood, tree trunks at it's base, branches with the final vestiges of foliage at it's top, dried reeds interspersed throughout, that rose to almost double their height at the centre of the packed earth floor of the enclosure.

'Yes, Thomas.' Said Jimmy flatly. 'I see the bonfire.' He let go of Thomas's arm and took a step away. 'What I _don't_ see is why you've brought me to it.'

_Well aren't we suddenly a grumpy guts…!_

'Feeling more yourself now are you?' Thomas muttered dryly.

'What?'

'Nothing.' Thomas quickly covered. 'The gardener will be along to light it in a little while…I just thought it'd be nice to sit by it. You know, watch it, and such…' He said breezily. '…it'll be dark soon.'

Jimmy took another step away, crossing his arms over his chest and gripping his hands tightly at his upper arms. He looked again at the stacked wood, at the tall fences around them, and then peered back at Thomas.

'I don't like it here.' He said softly.

_You're not supposed to I'm afraid. And you're going to like it even less before the night's out…_

'Come on…' Said Thomas, using the same tone he had done earlier when dragging Jimmy out of bed. '…let's sit down.'

He trudged down the slight slope leading down from the gate towards the old cut logs arranged in a rough square round the fire-pit by way of seating. He set the bags down behind one of the logs and then stepped over it to the fire-side.

Thomas slowly sat down, giving his posterior time to adapt to the cold and slightly damp wood, knobbly in various unexpected places, before sinking his weight down fully. He sat and surveyed the soon to be incinerated monument to the gardener's industrious pruning.

'Thomas…I still don't understand.' Said Jimmy, still hugging his chest, still over by the gate.

'It's a bonfire.' Said Thomas. 'You watch it burn. Now come and sit down.'

'What's this about?' Said Jimmy, shivering a little in the shade of the high fence, looking about himself as though expecting the answer to emerge from the shadows.

'I need to talk to you. _Really_ talk to you, away from the house, away from the others…And you _know_ what this is about.' Said Thomas still speaking gently, pleasantly, head twisted to look back over his shoulder at Jimmy as he hesitated by the gate.

Jimmy shook his head, chin quivering a little. 'I want to go back to the house.'

'I know.' Said Thomas. 'You want to go back to bed. And you want to stay there.'

Jimmy sniffed. 'That's what you _do_ when you don't feel well.' He said weakly.

'I want to help make you better. And I have things to say that you need to hear.'

Jimmy shook his head again, his shoulders and torso joining in this time. He almost fell over in his lingering disorientation and unwillingness to unclasp his hands from his arms to hold them out for balance.

'Sit by me, Jimmy.' Said Thomas gently. 'Please…You look like you're about to keel over.'

'I'm fine!' Jimmy gruffly responded, looking sideways at the closed gate, mentally going over the route of the journey back to the house in his head, his face twisting unhappily when he considered how unlikely it was that he could make it back to his room without coming across other members of staff on the way, and those long garden paths and all those flights of stairs…

'Listen to me, Jimmy.' Thomas said, no longer gentle but a long way from harsh. 'You're not fine. You're finished, in fact, unless you snap out of this. Now I've got things to tell you tonight that I can guarantee will make you feel like shit, but I think I can help you. And there is a reason I brought you here…' He indicated the bonfire. '…but we'll get to that later. _If_ you'll stay.'

Jimmy responded by illustrating the fact he was indeed 'not fine' by bursting into tears.

'Oh Jimmy…' Thomas muttered, closing his eyes for a moment.

He stayed where he was sitting on the log by the bonfire, desperately wanting to go over to Jimmy but unwilling to physically crowd him in any way, not even to comfort him; the decision to stay had to be Jimmy's alone. The rest, Thomas would endeavour to steer, but that first step he absolutely would not push.

'What do I have to do?' Jimmy eventually said, his speech whiny and wet as the tears subsided.

'Right now? Just sit by me and let me talk to you.' Said Thomas softly.

Little by little, releasing his hold on his arms to shove his hands in his pockets, Jimmy picked his way down the smooth earthen slope. He stepped gingerly through the cavity left in the corner of the log 'square' where two tree trunks lay end to end and sat beside Thomas, hunching his shoulders up against a bite of cold that Thomas couldn't feel.

'Alright.' He said, shuffling about a bit on the log, left knee twitching uncontrollably between himself and Thomas. 'Talk.'

Thomas wanted to smile. It wasn't a happy moment, definitely not, but it was a hopeful one.

He didn't do it though. He had a feeling it wouldn't go down to week with Jimmy. And Jimmy was looking quite confused and agitated enough already.

'Leave it a moment, yeah?' Said Thomas, glancing at Jimmy out of the corner of his eye.

_Christ the boy just can't keep still…_

'Clarence will be along in a moment.' He added.

'I don't want to see _Clarence_.' Jimmy muttered petulantly.

'Shhh…' Thomas said softly. '…don't be getting like that. He won't speak to us. He's just coming to light the fire.'

Jimmy gave an agitated humph but said no more.

They waited. Thomas began to grow as agitated as Jimmy in the silence, but stood firm in his resolve to postpone the conversation until the imminent threat of interruption was removed, not matter how much Jimmy glowered and fidgeted.

Clarence didn't keep them waiting long. He appeared from the woods at the open side of the enclosure, his dog at his side, and proceeded to immediately attend to the matter of the fire. Circumnavigating the stacked wood twice, first to lay dry kindling the second time to light it, he was gone as quickly as he had come, and without a word.

His dog, something akin to a greyhound but not long enough in the leg to be purebred, sniffled around the log that Jimmy and Thomas were sitting on for a few moments before chasing after him. Thomas smiled at the dog's inquisitiveness and was surprised upon glancing up to find Jimmy apparently doing the same. The two of them quickly looked away from one another and stared straight ahead as the small pockets of amber flames began to spread throughout the base of the bonfire. It began to whistle and hiss as the fire took hold.

_Right. Best get this show on the road._

Thomas swallowed. 'So…First I want to say some things to you, and I want you to listen. And I want you to tell me if I've got any of this wrong, alright?' He said his upper body twisted sideways to watch Jimmy.

Jimmy gave a small nod, eyes fixed ahead on the rising flames.

'You like men.' Thomas began. 'But perhaps at first you didn't know you did, or you didn't know it was…_possible_…' Thomas paused for a moment, Jimmy simply kept staring into the fire. '…but then you met this bloke, this _Mr Carter_…' Thomas couldn't keep the venom out of his voice. '…and you fell in love with him. You thought he loved you.' Thomas took a very deep breath. 'Because you loved him, and believed he loved you, you…did things…with him and trusted him, perhaps more than you should have.' Jimmy still didn't react, although the tell-tale sheen of water glinting in the firelight from the bottom of his eyes gave away his attempt at stoicism. Thomas bit his lip before continuing. 'But he let you down. Threw you out. So you convinced yourself that it wasn't love, and that kind of love wasn't possible. Because it made it easier for you looking back, and it made it easier for you to…make money…going forwards.'

Thomas paused, waited. At length Jimmy broke his fixation on the fire long enough to briefly meet Thomas's eyes and nod.

'But more than that…' Thomas continued, very tentatively. '…you felt badly about the things you'd done for Mr Carter, ashamed. So much so that you…sought out ways to be ashamed, to be used, because you believe you deserve it. _You_ decided that you deserved it. And feelings never came into it, because you'd completely convinced yourself _that_ kind of love wasn't real. No matter how many men asked, you always said no as far as _that_ was concerned.'

It took a lot longer that time, so much so that Thomas had time to look up and note that the evening star had grown brighter in the darkening sky, but Jimmy nodded again. It was a small nod, but a nod nonetheless.

Thomas found himself nodding back, halting as Jimmy once again turned back to the fire.

'But then…' Thomas said quietly, looking at the floor. '…this annoying and romantic bastard comes along who won't take no for an answer.' In his peripheral vision he saw Jimmy's face begin to crumple. 'Because there's something about you that he just…' Thomas lost his voice to an unexpected sob, watching as fresh tears joined the barely dried tracks streaked down Jimmy's face. Thomas took a shaky breath, and fixed his eyes back on the floor. 'He loves you. So much. And whatever you do or say, he makes it his business to be with you. And…by some…' Thomas's voice faltered badly. '…miracle…you finally…' Thomas smiled at the floor, despite the tears now softly falling from his own eyes onto the dirt. '…love him back.'

He had to pause to collect himself. Upon steeling himself to resume it damn near broke his heart to see Jimmy nodding vigorously beside him, having mistaken the break in speech as an invitation for feedback.

'But there are problems…' Thomas said, clearing his throat. '…because now that you can't deny…' He abandoned speaking in the third person. '…our love, it also means you have to acknowledge the…well, you have to truly acknowledge what you've been doing to yourself over the past few years. You can't pretend like what you gave to all those men…didn't matter.' Thomas sighed. 'And that's bad.'

Jimmy nodded again, face still turned to the fire, his eyes closed.

'And on the other hand…' Thomas shifted his weight on the log before continuing. '…you've always felt that what you did for Mr Carter mattered a great deal. So much so that you've been punishing yourself for it ever since. So what does that mean for you?' He said, asking the fire rather than Jimmy. 'It means that you can treat yourself like shit, that you can let people do horrible things to you and not care, that you abuse _yourself_ even…but all the while you feel it's dirty, shameful. So you clean yourself up, scrub it away…And then you go back for more.'

Jimmy's head fell forwards as though to nod, but it didn't rise again.

For a while Thomas let the noise of the fire and the calls of the birds at dusk be the only sounds. Jimmy continued to sit, head bowed, beside him.

The fire began to fold in on itself, sticks weakening and buckling to reduce the original pyramid to a more solid and sustainable dome shape, snapping and crackling away as it did so; the flames looking that much more ethereal as the lilac hue of the sky gave way to a dark inky blue.

'Now in that…' Thomas eventually continued. '…is a whole world of hurt and a whole lot of wrong. And even though I _do_ believe you understand that, you've got a bloody long way to go before you can properly deal with it. And that's going to take time…much more time than we've got if you can't snap out of this enough to go back to work. Weeks, months…maybe years. Even then, it'll only happen if you _talk_ to me...'

'You still care?'

The small question, spoken in an even smaller voice, a statement of wonder rather than a genuine query, took Thomas completely by surprise.

'Yes.' He said, suddenly feeling the need to wet his lips with his tongue and wishing he had thought to bring something to think as his throat went painfully dry. 'Anyway…um…' He coughed and fumbled for his words. '…the most pressing thing, way I see it, is that you're not sleeping. At least if that could be brought under control you could go back to work and…you know…stop waking up everyone _else_ at three in the morning.' Thomas added ruefully. 'You wouldn't be happy, but at least you'd be functional, right? And then we'd have time to work on…'

Jimmy gave a loud peal of laughter, slapping his thighs and throwing his head to the sky in hysterics.

It was such an astonishing contrast to the meek, submissive, quiet of a few moments previous that Thomas near fell off the log in shock.

He stared in astonishment. Jimmy's grim amusement was horrifically highlighted by the shadows and flames of the fire and Thomas found himself quite unable to look away from the haunting sight.

'Sorry…sorry…' Jimmy wheezed, giving a low chuckle. '…it's just…' He collapsed into laughter again. 'Sleep. Gosh I wish I'd thought of that. Get more sleep, he says…' Jimmy mocked Thomas to an invisible audience.

'Are you quite finished?' Thomas said levelly.

'According to you I am.' Jimmy drawled, lolling back and grinning at the sky.

'Hey!' Thomas said sharply, snapping his fingers (the un-injured ones) in front of Jimmy's nose. 'Bloody pay attention. This is important!'

'Sorry.' Jimmy whispered, looking a little dazed but still swaying merrily about.

'Anyway, as I was saying, we need to help you sleep. The biggest problem with your sleep right now, the way I see it, is those nightmares. And that's all about Mr Carter, isn't it? What you did for Mr Carter.'

Jimmy stopped swaying.

'Now I _think_…' Thomas said slowly. '…that I might be able to help you there. Because you see, something happened recently that I think you ought to know about. Mr Crawley wants to talk to you about it too, but I thought it would be best if I filled you in first…because…' Thomas bit his lip. '…you're _definitely_ not going to like parts of it. But at least it might stop you blaming yourself…' Thomas paused, quirking his head to one side with a grimace. '…And then some.'

'Thomas, I don't have the _energy_ to decipher riddles right now.' Said Jimmy, watching him dispassionately; his head propped up on his arm, which in turn was propped up on his knee.

'The crux of the matter is that recently…' Thomas said simply. '…Mr Crawley, Mr Bates, Alfred and I all went to pay your _Captain_ Carter a visit.'

'You….what…?' Jimmy whispered.


	81. Our Interest - Chapter 81

**Our Interest – Chapter 81**

'I didn't realise at first…' Thomas said gently. '…but Mr Carter is one of the tenants on the estate Mr Crawley and Alfred have been visiting. He's the one Alfred talked about quite a bit actually, like when he got shown down to the lake by his son Peter.'

'I don't remember Alfred saying anything about…' Jimmy began.

_No I suppose you wouldn't. Barely ANYONE has been speaking to you for months._

'…Wait. Mr Carter doesn't have a son.' Said Jimmy with a frown, eyes going blank as though he were looking inwards, struggling to remember the particulars, so far gone as to be unsure of his own memory.

'He doesn't.' Thomas concurred quickly, bringing Jimmy out of his trance. 'And this is the crux of what you need to know.' Thomas grimaced, on the one hand happy to have such unequivocal proof of Mr Carters despicable character, on the other hand in no hurry to tear down whatever lingering fantasies of affection Jimmy may still harbour about the man. 'You're not the only desperate young man…' He said slowly. '…that Mr Carter has taken into his home. It would…it would seem he makes quite a habit of it. When I met him, I was glowering at him…as you can imagine…and he misunderstood, started looking me up and down as though trying to remember when he had 'looked after' me.'

Jimmy's face looked more and more pained as Thomas spoke, still staring in the direction of the fire but his attention wholly fixated on Thomas's words, and the past.

'And that Peter that was there when we visited, the one Alfred and Mr Crawley thought was Mr Carter's son, he's maybe…I don't know…' Thomas pondered for a moment. '…half the age you are now, maybe a little more.' He paused. 'And Mr Carter was working on leading him down the same way he led you.'

'Oh Jesus!' The words croaked out of Jimmy's mouth seconds before he clamped a hand over it, his shoulders hunching forwards as he doubled over his knees.

Thomas watched Jimmy's shaking back for a moment, considering but declining to offer a soothing palm to his distressed shoulders.

'I'm sorry to have to tell you this.' Said Thomas, trying to keep his voice level and natural even in the face of Jimmy's break down. 'I know you must have really cared for him.' He briefly covered his own mouth with his hand to steady his quivering jaw before continuing. 'When I think about what you were able to offer me, even with all the damage that's been done to you, I think that the love you offered him, when you really believed, and when you didn't know any better, must have been…' He gave a pained sigh. '…quite something.'

Jimmy's hunched shoulders gave an even more vigorous shake, his face and hands scrunched miserably by his knees.

Thomas listened to his desperate sobbing and harboured a powerful urge to join in with his own, but he persevered.

'What you need to understand from this, Jimmy, is that your Captain Carter is a manipulative and abusive bastard. He knows just what he's doing, knows just what he wants, knows exactly what kind of person he can get it from and…and you didn't stand a chance.' Thomas's arm found Jimmy's shoulder blades quite of it's own accord, he couldn't help it that time, and he found himself bending over beside him to bring his head to the same level as Jimmy's to speak directly to him as he continued. 'Because you were trusting and kind…_are_ trusting and kind…and he's a nasty _nasty _piece of work.' He leaned even closer, noticing Jimmy inclining the top of his head towards him as he did so, Jimmy's hair coming to rest against the curve of Thomas's cheek, to whisper. 'You shouldn't feel ashamed about believing someone loved you. Particularly not when they've done everything in their power to _make_ you think it.'

Jimmy shivered under his arm, the sobs continuing unabated. But from within the depths of his misery he summoned up a nod, and quite a defiant and firm nod at that.

Thomas withdrew his hold and sat up, but not before he pressed a quick kiss against Jimmy's temple, not loving or comforting, purely congratulatory, because Jimmy deserved it.

'And there's more.' Said Thomas, catching Jimmy's eyes as he too rose up from his crouched position to sit upright again (albeit somewhat shakily). 'Like I said, we went to see Mr Carter, the four of us. And you know what we did?' He asked excitedly, knowing full well Jimmy did not. 'We took that boy Peter right out of his house, and I punched Mr Carter so hard he broke a cabinet and all these plates fell off and smashed over him!'

'The ones in the parlour?' Said Jimmy, his voice a little choked by the mucus in his throat but suddenly sounding distinctly amused. 'My God, he loved those plates.'

'I'll bet he loved the house too, didn't he?' Said Thomas, faking airy nonchalance but grinning wickedly.

Jimmy's eyes went wide. 'What did you…?'

'I didn't.' Thomas asserted. 'But that Mr Crawley…' He chuckled. '…he quite outdid himself…again.' He added, his smile faltering a little.

'Tell me. Tell me quick. What happened?' Said Jimmy, swivelling around, his left leg bending and hitching over the log for balance as he turned his body to face Thomas, impatient and darkly hopeful.

'It turns out Mr Carter is one of those naughty boys who haven't been paying their full due to the estate.' Said Thomas simply. 'Mr Crawley has made so he has to pay up now…' He paused for effect, grinning again. '…trouble is, he also has to scrounge up the money for the last four decades or so and all!'

Jimmy frowned. 'But he could never pay that…' He said, clearly wanting to believe Thomas's words but still maintaining a healthy scepticism.

'Mmmm.' Thomas murmured, giving a reassuring squeeze to Jimmy's lower leg, lying between them as it was. 'Mr Crawley says he'll definitely loose the house.'

'Oh my God.' Jimmy said softly, paying no mind to Thomas's grip on his leg. 'That's…BRILLIANT!' He exclaimed, suddenly shaking out of Thomas's grip to jump to his feet and giving a twirl about on the spot. 'AMAZING!' He laughed, almost toppling sideways (briefly making Thomas's heart stop at his proximity to the fire), but recovering well with a wide sway in the other direction. He stumbled forwards a few places to bend over, hands on his knees, and whisper excitedly to Thomas. 'He loved loved LOVED that house!'

Thomas didn't much care for Jimmy's sudden manic energy. But he consented to laugh as though Jimmy had just told him a fine secret joke as the latter went back to spinning about in front of the fire.

Thomas's smile faded as he reached back to the bags he had brought down with him, surreptitiously checking the contents (not that Jimmy was paying him that much attention at present) before taking a tight grasp of the top of one of them.

He felt suddenly cold. Even though the fire at the enclosures centre was well and truly ablaze now, a roaring beacon that had turned the surrounding fence a glowing orangey brown, casting wide and long shadows that radiated from the centre of the enclosure right out to the edges, he felt cold. His skin crawled, especially the hand that held the bag.

'There's something else, Jimmy.' He called.

Thomas exhaled slowly as Jimmy spun back around to face him.

'What?' Said Jimmy, standing to attention before him, his face still gleeful (and disquietingly manic) at the news of Mr Carter's impending eviction.

_I suppose this IS a lot to take in…_

Thomas hesitated, taking another deep breath, suddenly _very_ unsure of himself.

'I stole something, while I was at the house.' He said slowly.

'What?' Said Jimmy, still smiling, his shoulders bobbing about a little as he fought the urge to go back to spinning about.

Thomas swallowed. 'Can you not guess?' He said softly.

'I don't…' Jimmy began. Then the animation abruptly drained from his face and body, leaving him a stock still statue. 'You…?' He was at a loss for words.

Thomas couldn't find the words either, so without further delay (or thought) he brought the bag out from behind the log and set it on the ground in front of him, opening it up and drawing out a handful of the garment within.

The lace of the dress appeared as almost transparent in the firelight, as the beads shone darkly, reflecting the black and orange colours of their surroundings, but the off-white fabric maintained it's stubborn pale gleam, looking quite unearthly amid the black-brown-orange colour pallet of the rest of it's surroundings.

Jimmy's skin took on a similar hue.

'Thomas…' He whispered, almost as though pleading for him to suddenly take it back. To make it disappear.

Thomas felt like a complete bastard.

What made it worse was the way Jimmy kept looking at him, then looking away in distress as though ashamed at the notion that Thomas had seen the dress at all.

_It IS private isn't it. I shouldn't have…_

_[Horrendously private, yes.]_

_[Painfully necessary, more.]_

'Take it.' He heard himself saying to Jimmy, holding out the handful of fabric, pulling more of the dress out of the bag as he did so. 'Go on.'

Slowly and gently, Jimmy did. And in such a way that Thomas's heart gave a painful lurch. Jimmy approached the dress as though it were something precious and breakable, touching it lightly as though expecting it to crumble, pulling it in it's entirety out of the bag and holding it up high, the skirts resting over one arm, to keep it out of the dirt.

'Why are you protecting it?' Said Thomas, his voice cold (though not on Jimmy's account). 'He's not going to have it back.'

Jimmy's eyes ran over the thing, his eyes painfully lingering over the detailing, his fingers buried in the mass of cascading fabric.

'Jimmy…' Said Thomas sharply. '…I brought it for you to destroy.'

Jimmy blinked and looked down at the dress. He was crying again, but silently this time. His face remained perfectly still even as the tears fell.

Thomas watched him, willing him to take the offered chance.

It was the moment that a tiny pool of wetness landed on the silken material, leaving a little dark blemish on the otherwise unmarked fabric, that the _possibility_ of destruction began to exert itself in Jimmy's mind.

Still holding the fabric up high to keep it out of the dirt, Jimmy released on of his hands and brought it to a tiny thread that was sticking out from within a small circle of sewn beads at the side of the bodice.

He unconsciously swayed a little as though dancing, cradling the dress almost lovingly, as he took ahold of the thread between finger and thumb and pulled.

Almost instantly a dozen or so beads came away from the tight cluster and fell to the floor, making a light pattering sound on the dirt.

Jimmy gave a small snort of amusement. Behind him the bonfire emitted a whistle and a popping sound seemingly in approval.

Thomas watched silently.

Jimmy took hold of one of the other beads that had been dislodged and pulled on it, detaching more beads and a little of the underlying lace. He tugged on that too, hard, and the whole left side of the bodice decoration began to come away.

His weakened arms failed him as he reached the tight stitching at the seam. He dropped down to his knees on the floor, dress pressed into the dirt underneath them, to get more leverage to rip the lace away.

The top of the seam running down the middle of the skirt split open at the pressure, exposing the first of many skirts concealed beneath. Jimmy tugged at the over skirt, tearing apart the seam connecting it to the bodice, separating as much of it as he could from the rest of the dress.

He fell back onto his flank with a triumphant yell, swath of shiny off-white fabric clutched within his fist as the final stitching gave way.

Instantly he jumped to his feet.

Jimmy smiled pleasantly as he fed the strip of dress eagerly into the fire.

Thomas let out a low exclamation of relief at the sight. Thankful that his 'present' was being well received.

Jimmy's torso quickly swept forwards, as though in a bow, as he retrieved the torn lace from the bodice and tossed it on top of the charred papery-black twists that were all that remained of the over skirt.

He watched it burn for a moment, the whole thing floating away as ash in a matter of seconds, before dropping back down onto his knees, crushing the dress back into the dirt beneath him as he did so.

His hands lingered almost affectionately over the ruined dress before taking hold of the remaining lacework on the right side of the bodice and jerking violently at it until it detached, beads and all, from the fabric.

He growled as his fingernails and fingertips went frantically to work to exploit any tiny tear or snag in the bodice or petticoats to widen, to stretch, to irreparably damage the thing until the material came away in pieces.

Thomas watched, silent, still, and quite frankly, alarmed, from his perch on the log. The firelight playing over one side of his face as the other stayed in darkness as he watched Jimmy become something more animal than human. There was a level of raw rage there underneath the submissive hurt that Thomas hadn't anticipated and it was shocking to see. And somehow personal. Very personal.

As Jimmy scrabbled about in the dirt, his trouser legs and the remnants of the dress strewn about him now almost the same colour, Thomas felt uncomfortably like he was witnessing something he shouldn't be. Like he should quietly get up and back away and leave Jimmy to his business.

But he couldn't leave.

It felt important that he should stay.

Still on his knees Jimmy scrambled and scraped at the ragged strips of fabric to gather them up, to thrust them into the fire.

The fire itself began to rustle and crack as the branches at the heart of it gave way, collapsing in on itself, fuelling the flames with new sticks and branches to burn as those from the top fell into the cavity to ignite in the overpowering heat.

It fuelled Jimmy too. Mindless of the danger to his skin and clothes, he thrust the rest of the dress right into the centre of the fire.

Thomas let him, reasoning a burnt hand would be a small price to pay for a life.

Jimmy's hand made it out intact, covered in soot, with just a few telltale slithers of raw pink on the backs of his fingers. But the dress was annihilated.

Jimmy howled, as he laughed, as he cried, as he sat back on the ground and watched it burn.


	82. Our Interest - Chapter 82

**Our Interest – Chapter 82**

As Jimmy's howls gave way to a quieter catharsis of sniffles and sobs, Thomas found himself unable to keep watching, dispassionately detached, and roused himself up off his seat to walk over to Jimmy. Beads crunched into the dirt underfoot as he softly picked his way through the debris left by Jimmy's frantic un-making of the dress.

Jimmy looked up at him, spent and dull, and looking so dreadfully alone. Thomas gave a small smile of reassurance before moving behind him, sinking to the floor. Mindless of his own smart trousers, Thomas sat behind Jimmy, placing a leg either side of him and hugging firmly around Jimmy's chest to draw him back against his own as he leant to rest his back against the log seat; ignoring the stench of the fire on Jimmy's hair and clothes and ignoring the filthy sheen of soot-laced sweat on his skin. Never before in Thomas's life had maintaining cleanliness been less important.

Jimmy relaxed against him, eyes fixed on the burning fire.

For a while they stayed like that in silence.

But as Jimmy came back to himself, Thomas began to feel uncomfortable about the proximity between them, wondering if he should let go and move away.

'How are you feeling, Jimmy?' He said softly to the back of Jimmy's head.

Jimmy gave a groan and shifted about a bit against Thomas's chest. 'I feel like hell.'

Behind him Thomas nodded. 'Understandable.' He said with a grimace. He leant forwards to speak into Jimmy's ear. 'Is there anything I can do to help?'

'You could give me a cigarette.'

Thomas blinked in surprise as Jimmy inclined his head to make eye contact, clearly realising that Thomas would question the request.

'But you don't…' At the sight of the determination and…_something_…in Jimmy's eyes, Thomas shut up. Briefly dislodging Jimmy from his front Thomas searched for the cigarette packet, not touched in a while, that he hoped was still in his breast pocket. It was there, and a moment later he handed a cigarette to Jimmy, cupping both of his own hands around Jimmy's shoulders to light it for him as Jimmy put it between his lips.

'Thank you.' Jimmy said quietly, inhaling far too deeply and confidently for a beginner.

Thomas treated himself to a cigarette also, suspecting he had chanced upon another of Jimmy's patented self-flagellation methods. Albeit one he kept even more hidden than his penchant for abusing himself over a bureau.

But as Thomas watched Jimmy's face, and it's determined and commanding fixation on the fire, where a few fragments of crisped and blackened material still clung on grimly at the edge of the flames, he realised that this particular cigarette was about something different.

For the most part they didn't speak as they smoked, Jimmy still leaned back against Thomas, Thomas still sitting with legs bent around him, resting the hand holding his cigarette on his knee as he stared past Jimmy's head, also into the fire.

Thomas found himself craving music, he was craving a drink too (although he only had himself to blame for neglecting to bring one), but the urge for music was stronger; for some quiet and old tune to sooth them along with the flames.

'What are you humming?' Said Jimmy quietly.

'Oh…nothing.' Thomas replied, not having realised he was doing so.

He let the silence, save the crackling of the fire, reign for a little longer.

'Do you want to see him?' Said Thomas as he tossed his spent cigarette onto the bonfire. 'If you do, we'd best make it soon. No telling where he'll end up after they throw him out.' He paused. 'That's if he doesn't end up in prison, that is.'

Jimmy threw the remnants of his own cigarette ferociously onto the fire. 'He'll probably end up with his sister's family in York…At least, he _told_ me he has a sister in York…But no. I don't want to see him.' Jimmy's head rolled against Thomas's chest. 'He doesn't deserve to see me.' Jimmy said steadily.

'My thoughts exactly.' Thomas concurred, taking the liberty of running his fingers over Jimmy's temple to neaten up his hair line before quickly returning his hand to propping up his own weight as he leant back against the log.

It wasn't until the fire began to collapse in on itself again, as the final parts of the original pyramid structure flaked away as embers and ash, engulfing the last visible remnants of the dress, that Thomas broached the subject of the second favour he had asked of Clarence.

'We're to have the gardener's cottage tonight.' He said softly. 'Clarence is staying with Mr Molesley, the elder, in the village for a couple of days…' Thomas felt Jimmy tense up against him. '…I thought it'd be best to get you away from Downton for a bit, so we could properly talk about…whatever you need to talk about…' Thomas babbled as Jimmy slid forwards and away from him.

Thomas didn't care for the fearful way Jimmy turned to look over his shoulder at him.

Not one bit.

'Jimmy, for God's sake I don't mean nothing by it. Not like that.' Thomas said tersely. 'I don't _expect_ anything.'

'No. I…' Jimmy began, performing his usual trick of chewing at his lip when unsure how to word something. '…I know you don't. I _do_ know that. But it's just…it's such a rare chance, isn't it? To be alone together, for the night, and away from all the others…I hate that I have to disappoint you on that score, again. That's all. Because I really couldn't…do it. I don't feel like it. Not at all…Not now.' He said softly, sounding utterly exhausted. 'But I hate to have to disappoint you, again and again, when you've been so kind to me…'

'Jimmy, we are not together. So that's not even remotely on the cards.' Thomas said, not liking the way the words sounded coming out of his mouth. 'You're not disappointing me. Alright? We're just going to go to the cottage, get you cleaned up…because right now you're a pretty rank mess…' He said teasingly, attempting a more jovial tone. '…and then we are going to sleep. And I think we've both earned a good deep sleep after this, wouldn't you say?'

Jimmy nodded, looking at Thomas with an expression that carried a subtle kind of happiness, of pleasant surprise, of an opinion ratified, so painfully earnest that Thomas had to look away.

'Anyway…' Thomas continued, still speaking as though joking to cover the seriousness of the point. '…if anything you turning me down would make me happy rather than disappointed right now.'

Jimmy gave him a confused look.

'Because…' Said Thomas, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his bent knees. '…it would be more evidence that you're learning to consult your own feelings in…matters of the bedroom…rather than only worrying about everyone else's.' He finished, pulling something of a comic face, worrying his expression might well give way to anguish again if he did not.

Jimmy's face was pensive for a moment.

'Jimmy…?' Said Thomas gently, worried he had overstepped a line.

Jimmy twisted his mouth, considering, then finally speaking.

'I don't like hot chocolate.'

Whatever Thomas had expected, it wasn't that. 'I'm sorry, what?'

'I don't like hot chocolate.' Jimmy repeated. 'Hate it in fact.'

Thomas looked at him as though he had gone mad. 'You've lost me…'

Jimmy gave a small sigh of exasperation, but his eyes were bright and teasing. 'You got me hot chocolate, ages ago now, but you did. And I pretended to like it, because _you_ said you liked it so much. I thought you'd be upset you see. But I don't like it. And I think…' Jimmy shrugged and gave a small laugh. '…now's as good a time to tell you as any!'

'You thought I'd be upset with you for not liking hot chocolate?' Said Thomas dryly. 'What, did you think I was going to break up with you for insulting my beverage of choice?' He said, unable to keep from laughing at the thought.

'Well when you put it like that…' Jimmy said in mock seriousness, but soon collapsing into giggles.

They both came out of the moment feeling a little lighter.

'Come on…' Said Thomas, leaning heavily on his uninjured hand to get to his feet. '…I think it's time to head to the cottage.'

He offered a hand to Jimmy.

'Yeah.' Jimmy agreed, gripping the offered hand, allowing Thomas to drag him to his feet.

'Grab the bag, will you?' Said Thomas, heading over to the side of the enclosure.

'What are you doing?' Said Jimmy, peering into the shadows curiously.

Thomas reappeared with a rake in hand and gave a snort of laughter at Jimmy's curious stare.

'Well it's a good thing I wasn't heading over there to do what most blokes head into dark corners to do on a night out!' Said Thomas, walking over to the fire.

Jimmy blushed and looked away, retrieving the second bag from behind the log and stuffing the empty one into it before turning to watch Thomas rake the embers of the fire together.

'What?' Said Thomas, noticing the strange look on Jimmy's face.

'Nothing…it's just strange to see _you_ doing something like that…That's all.'

'Well I promised Clarence.' Thomas laughed, continuing to push at the embers and errant branches until the remnants of the fire were neatly stacked in the middle of the accumulated ash. 'Now let's get going, shall we?' He said as he returned the rake to it's spot at the corner of the fence.

Jimmy nodded.

'You going to carry the bag, or are you going to make me?' He teased.

'Oh you're _definitely_ feeling better, aren't you.' Said Thomas dryly as he snatched the bag out of Jimmy's hands. 'Reckon you've got enough energy to walk to the cottage? Or do I have to carry you too?'

'Ha! I think I'll be quite alright thank you!' Jimmy retorted, although Thomas noted his eyes and face did look desperately tired. 'So if you'll be so kind as to lead the way…'


	83. Our Interest - Chapter 83

**Our Interest – Chapter 83**

They made it to the cottage, slowly but surely. Jimmy's will to walk and speak steadily drained away as they neared the tell-tale spots of light indicating the cluster of cottages at the top of the woodland slope. Thomas took to holding him up by the arm again, eager to reach their destination speedily as the wind began to pick up.

The key was just where Clarence had said (Thomas had often thought an Englishman could make a fine living burgling if only he knew to always turn over the stone by the front-door step) and Thomas steered Jimmy inside safely enough, pleasantly surprised to find a solitary lamp burning to greet them. The living room (actually, the _only_ room) was a small affair, but desperately cosy; dominated by a huge old sofa that looked as though it could swallow a man whole set in front of a wood-burning stove. There was no fireplace to speak of, nor room for one. The only other notable features of the room were a set of cabinets and a sink on the far wall and a single bed pushed tight against the corner of the last cabinet; constituting 'kitchen' and 'bedroom' in one fell swoop.

'Hey, hey, hey…no!' Thomas exclaimed as Jimmy went to collapse against the wall next to the door.

He caught him just in time, before Jimmy's filthy clothes or skin could come into contact with the lovingly white-washed walls of the cottage. Their pristine nature was obvious even in the light of that solitary lamp, and Thomas was taking no chances.

'I'd like to limit the amount of cleaning I have to do after our stay if you please, Mr Kent.' Said Thomas, too busy grunting as he manoeuvred Jimmy towards the open floor space to the side of the stove to convincingly pull off sternness. 'Now you just…' Thomas paused to set the bag down, bending sideways to fish around in it while still attempting to prop Jimmy up with the other hand. '…wait here…' He said, flicking one of the towels he had brought out over the floorboards and dropping Jimmy down onto it. '…while I go and get the kettle on!' He huffed, taking a moment to catch his breath before seizing the large kettle off the stove and taking it over to the sink.

Jimmy groaned from the floor, rubbing a hand (and soot) across his cheek as he gathered himself just enough to sit hunched forwards, cross legged, to watch Thomas. 'I don't want tea.' He mumbled.

Thomas laughed softly, mindful of Clarence's close neighbours and the late hour. 'Bless you…but this ain't for tea.' He said, the kettle rattling against the ceramic of the sink as he set it down under the tap (giving thanks for that small comfort). Leaving the tap running he set about stoking up the stove. 'You my dear, need a wash. Look like you've been up a few too many chimneys, you do!' He said, prompting Jimmy to groggily look down at himself, in particularly his hands, which were utterly filthy.

'Oooh…' Jimmy moaned unhappily, running a hand down the side of his face again, leaving finger tracks in the sweat and grime. 'I just want to go to sleep Thomas.' He said in a whisper, leaning heavily on his crossed legs as Thomas slowly closed the stove door, satisfied the fire was sufficiently alight.

Jimmy watched the little flames through the slits cut in the stove door, finding them much friendlier than those of the earlier evening. Soothing, in fact. And he was so so tired.

'Sorry Jimmy.' Said Thomas, darting over to turn off the tap just as the water reached the kettle rim. 'I don't mind doing the work…' He continued, giving a soft kick to the side of Jimmy's thigh as Jimmy's drowsy head dropped even lower into his lap. '…but I must insist on you doing me the courtesy of staying awake!'

Jimmy gave a noncommittal murmur.

'Good.' Said Thomas brightly, setting the kettle on the stove. 'Do you think we need more light?' He said as he began to unpack the bits in the bag out onto the tiny table and chairs (aka. 'dinning room') by the front door; neatly stacking various towels, sheets and clothing (mostly his) and a hairbrush (Jimmy's).

'Definitely not…' Jimmy drawled, his head lolling back over his shoulders as he looked up at Thomas with a dreamy smile on his face. 'Cover of darkness is good…' He said drowsily, with a half-laugh, half-sigh.

Thomas smiled back at him and nodded. 'Very well. Now…let's get those clothes off shall we?' He said, speaking as though to a child. Speaking as though it were no big thing.

Because it wasn't really. Not then.

'Mmmm…help…' Jimmy held out his arms.

'Lazy bastard.' Thomas grinned, dropping to his knees to begin the task. 'Like I said before…' He said as he tugged Jimmy's wrinkled (and smoked) jacket off his shoulders. '…you can have one of my shirts…' He continued, eager to keep talking. There was nothing he feared more than a silence at that moment. '…but I think we are going to have to just wash some of what you've got on now to make you a full outfit for tomorrow.'

'Oh God…' Jimmy moaned, lifting his hips to help Thomas get his trousers off. 'No laundry tonight…please…'

'No, not tonight.' Thomas agreed, the idea of pounding laundry in the sink quite unthinkable in his current level of exhaustion. 'Probably just as well that you've got nowhere to be tomorrow.' He said, his cheeks growing hot in spite of himself (although blaming the proximity of the stove was an option) as he peeled off Jimmy's underthings.

And he really _did _have to peel them off. A combination of the heat of the bonfire and the exertion of destroying acres of fabric, lave and beadwork, had Jimmy's skin in a very ripe state indeed. Thomas tried to limit contact with Jimmy's clothes as he folded them up into a small pile.

_God it must be love._

A slight chill dulled the blush of Thomas's cheeks.

He swallowed quickly before continuing. 'In the meantime we'll just have to wrap you in a sheet, eh?' He patted Jimmy lightly on the shoulder as he got up to hunt around for a bowl to mix the water in; not wishing to scald Jimmy with water from the kettle, nor freeze him with water from the sink.

He couldn't find a bowl. A little rummaging in the cabinets did produce a large saucepan, however.

Thomas made a mental note to wash it up _very_ thoroughly afterwards.

'Right…' He said, returning to Jimmy with soap, cloth and a saucepan filled with warm water. '…let's get started shall we?'

Jimmy nodded slowly, holding his arms out again with a contented look on his face.

'You're too adorable to exist sometimes…' Thomas muttered.

He had meant to keep that one in his head, but it somehow it slipped out.

It didn't seem to bother Jimmy, who continued to smile happily (if a little absently).

Thomas had a feeling that he would have gotten a slightly prickly reaction from a more 'awake' Jimmy.

With a deep sigh he soaked the cloth in the water and began with Jimmy's face.

Thomas allowed himself to blank out somewhat during the ensuing half-hour, and Jimmy seemed content to let him; remaining silent and pliant throughout right up until Thomas attacked him with a fresh towel.

'Mmmmph!' He grumbled, pulling the towel off his damp hair to glare at Thomas. His evil look lasted all of a few seconds before melting into a smile again.

'Perfect…' Said Thomas wearily, feeling a hundred years old as he got heavily to his feet. '…now stand up!' He ordered, tugging under Jimmy's arms to help him. The towel Jimmy had been clutching fell to lie beside the other that was still stretched out on the floor.

Thomas retrieved a sheet from the table by the door, barely having to take a few steps to reach it, so small was the room, and swept it around Jimmy's shoulders. 'All done.' He said, putting the last of his energy into a reassuring look as he steered Jimmy over to the bed. 'Now you…' He pushed Jimmy's chest until Jimmy's knees buckled and he sat on the edge of the mattress. '…get some bloody rest.'

Thomas turned back to the stove, a soft rustling behind him heralding the moment Jimmy swept his feet off the floor and lay back on the mattress, and began to ponder the matter of his own grottyness.

He was in nowhere near as bad a state as Jimmy had been, but felt the need to get the remnants of the day's exertions off his skin nonetheless.

Before long his own clothes were folded next to Jimmy's, providing an unwelcomely large pile of laundry for the next day, as he took up Jimmy's spot on the towel.

The spare water was cold now, but Thomas didn't bother to set the kettle up again. He feared he might fall asleep where he was if he waited much longer, and the thought of the clarifying and refreshing properties of cold water was actually quite alluring at that moment.

Still, he was very thankful for the warmth of his pyjamas after drying off with the towel.

He extinguished the lamplight and added a few more chunks of wood to the stove before settling himself onto the sofa. Leaning across, not in the least bit worried about unbalancing the monumentally heavy and cushioned sofa, Thomas retrieved the spare sheet from the table beside the door and began to shake out the folds; legs stretched out over the seat-cushions, propping himself up on his elbow as he did.

He almost jumped out of his skin as a white-sheeted figure appeared in his peripheral vision at the end of the sofa.

'Jimmy, Jesus!' Thomas gasped, recognising the face and shoulders peeking out from over the white sheet in the low light from the stove. He took a moment to catch his breath before continuing. 'Did you have a bad dream?' He said gingerly.

Jimmy shook his head.

Thomas watched him, waiting.

But Jimmy didn't speak

He just stood there looking small.

'Do you need another sheet?' Said Thomas, trying desperately to keep the good humour in his voice despite his fatigue and more than willing to give up his own sheet to Jimmy at that point, so desperate was he to finally get to sleep.

Jimmy shook his head again.

'Jimmy…?' Thomas began, not knowing what else to ask, searching Jimmy's tentative and meek face for some kind of answer.

'Come here.' He said firmly, when he finally found it.

Jimmy gave a small smile, waiting until Thomas had reclined himself fully on the sofa before sinking down to lie on top of him.

Thomas hugged one arm around Jimmy's bare shoulders and rested the other at his back, fingers running over the bunched folds of the fabric of the sheet as he rubbed gently, trying to sooth himself as much as Jimmy; reasoning they had both earned it.

When Jimmy's breathing had settled sufficiently for him to believe Jimmy was asleep, Thomas gave a lengthy exhale of relief and finally closed his own eyes, resting his head against the arm-rest and listening to the sounds of the wind whistling outside the windowpanes until he too fell asleep.


	84. Our Interest - Chapter 84

**Our Interest – Chapter 84**

**[Edited loosely, so sorry for any mishaps!]**

Jimmy felt hung-over, or at least that was the closes approximation to his actual feelings that his brain could provide when he came back to consciousness the next morning.

In the first few seconds after he woke he was quite unable to remember where he was, how he had got there, any events of the previous evening (save brief amber flashes behind his eyelids) and why his mattress was such an odd shape.

Looking down, he at least solved one of the queries. He recognised Thomas instantly, rumpled and sound asleep.

In it's confusion, Jimmy's brain was still able to register that this was 'good'. It was 'good' that Thomas was there. Nice. Comforting. Warm.

He knew he should remain contented with that feeling for a moment; just lie his head back onto Thomas's chest and close his eyes for as long as possible until whatever reality had brought them here demanded attention.

He tried.

But his concern for Thomas's wellbeing (i.e. realising that he, Jimmy, was rather heavy, and currently lying completely on top of Thomas)…

_Have I been lying on him all night?_

_Have we been HERE all night?_

_No._

_No we went to sleep late._

_But why did we go to sleep late on a sofa…?_

_Wait…where IS 'here'?_

…rapidly brought back recollections of the events of the previous evening.

He gave an unsteady groan. The shudder that ran through his body quickly awoke his sleeping companion.

Thomas stirred awake gently, frowning before opening his eyes, confused by the heavy weight on his front…and why it was moving. The frown vanished the split second after he opened his eyes.

'Jimmy…' Thomas said softly by the way of greeting, giving a gentle squeeze to Jimmy's shoulder; protruding, as it was, from the white sheet he still had loosely wrapped around his torso. He sounded confused by the sight he was waking up to and Jimmy could pinpoint the exact moment Thomas's mood shifted from 'happily oblivious' to 'painfully awake' just as his own mood had done.

However, unlike Jimmy's concern regarding the fact he was currently crushing Thomas, Thomas's problem was far more localised.

'I…um…I should probably get up.' Jimmy mumbled, trying to minimise further discomfort (or contact in general) for Thomas as he climbed off him to allow Thomas to discretely deal with his unusually insistent Morning Glory however he saw fit.

Thomas was sorry to loose the warmth, or rather, the contact, and he felt the loss of it keenly; but he was grateful for the chance to semi-surreptitiously readjust himself in his pyjama bottoms without the added complication of a naked erstwhile lover lying on top of him while he did so.

'Right…' Said Thomas, absently ruffling his hair as he leaned an elbow on the arm rest of the sofa, pulling himself up into a sitting position; mirroring Jimmy who had done the same at the other end of the sofa, now cocooned more tightly in his sheet against the chill of the morning. '…suppose that's got to be the first thing…' He said reluctantly, eyeing the piles of dirty clothes. Jimmy grimaced apologetically upon following Thomas's gaze. '…it'll probably take them forever to dry in here.' Thomas added with a sigh.

The cottage wasn't damn per se, but it was poorly ventilated with only one small window and the front and back doors to speak of by way of openings. Thomas wasn't too keen on leaving the doors propped open, for multiple reasons. And while stoking the stove was an option, he thought it would be best to avoid using too much of the wood in the basket beside it. Although, he reasoned, they _would _have to use more wood before the day was out anyway, and it would probably be best to just come to some arrangement about replacing it with Clarence.

'Can't have you like this all day, can we?' Said Thomas jovially as he got to his feet, wincing as his stiff muscles and joints throbbed in protest at having been made to sleep on the couch (and under Jimmy). He looked down at his injured knuckles, the enduring souvenir of his visit to Charles (unlike the dress), wondering if it would be better to attempt to manipulate them into movement or to just leave them be for the present. His other fingers seemed to be behaving themselves well enough. He decided to worry about them later.

'Mmmm…' Jimmy mumbled, curling up into the cushioned arm of the sofa with the sheet wrapped around him, tucking his feet up underneath him. '…it's cosy enough like this.' He said with a smile.

Thomas gave a light chuckle as he swept the piles of clothes off the floor to relocate them to the sideboard by the sink. He busied himself with the task of procuring water and soap, and deciding which items should go first.

He assumed Jimmy would just doze off again behind him. When he turned around, up to his elbows in grey soapy water, he was surprised to find Jimmy watching him.

'Can I help you with something, Sir?' Said Thomas in mock seriousness.

Jimmy shook his head. 'It's funny seeing you like this…' He said, still sounding a little groggy and blinking back an oncoming headache. '…all pyjamas…wild hair…in a tiny cottage doing the laundry…' Now it was Jimmy's turn to chuckle. '…you'd make someone a lovely little wife.'

The joke fell flat. Very flat. Jimmy briefly retreated awkwardly back into himself (and the cushions of the sofa) while Thomas took a moment to lean a bit more heavily on the rim of the sink before continuing the task.

But Thomas did have a small smile to himself as he did so, and Jimmy quickly went back to watching him; his face the picture of contented tranquillity at least for the moment.

The silence was comfortable and warm but before long both began to ponder a conversation starter as Thomas wrung out the garments in the sink.

They both started at exactly the same moment, but quickly came to the unspoken agreement that Jimmy's conversation starter of 'Do you think he was really going to sleep with that boy?' merited focus more than Thomas's attempt of 'Looks like it'll be a sunny day today…'

'Yes.' Said Thomas to the sink. 'I do.'

Behind him Jimmy sighed.

Thomas glanced over his shoulder at him, mercifully finding Jimmy in a more robust state than he had anticipated.

'Bastard.' Said Jimmy simply, in reply to Thomas's questioning look.

'Add in the words 'total', 'utter' or 'complete' in front of that and I'll agree with you.' Said Thomas dryly, turning back to the sink.

Jimmy gave a snort of bitter mirth that became another sigh.

'I wonder how many more there were before me…' He said softly, speaking to himself rather than Thomas.

'_Do_ you want to see him?' Said Thomas, tentatively, deliberately not turning back this time. 'We could arrange it. You could ask your…questions.'

'No. I don't want to see him.' Came the firm reply.

Thomas nodded to the wall in front of him and carried on with the laundry.

Jimmy turned to the window. 'You know it _does_ look like it's going to be a sunny one…' He said, burying his tired head into the cushions of the sofa.

They continued on like that for most of the morning; Thomas pottering about the place while Jimmy snuggled on the sofa, talking for the post part about inconsequential rubbish. But both of them, it would seem, were also of a mind to slip the odd sensitive topic into conversation.

'So what was it like when you first got to Manchester?' Thomas 'casually' dropped into conversation following a remark from Jimmy about how silent Downton always seemed, and how favourably that must compare to those who only had houses in cities.

Jimmy paused before answering, just to make sure Thomas realised his segue wasn't nearly as subtle as he thought it was.

'It was terrifying.' Said Jimmy simply. 'The first few days I couldn't relax for a moment. Not even a moment. Because I didn't have any where to sleep, nowhere safe to go. And I knew I was only going to get more dirty and tired and hungry the longer I stayed on the street…and that would make it harder to find anywhere to go. All I could think was…that I had to find somewhere to stay.' He said, twisting his mouth in displeasure at the memory as he watched Thomas wiping down the sink (having distributed the thoroughly washed clothes over every available bit of furniture in the room to dry).

'So how did you find that place? The pub you lived at?'

Jimmy leaned the side of his head against the sofa. 'The third night I met a man who took me to his room at a hotel. He told me about The Bellows as…a good place for someone like me to enquire about lodgings.' Said Jimmy with a fairly empty sigh.

'Right…' Said Thomas softly. 'And when you were…working…in Manchester, did anything…' His hands suddenly became unsteady, forcing him to abandon wiping the sink. '…go wrong?' He turned back to Jimmy, wringing his hands together, his face apologetic both for the question and his need to ask it (and for the fact he didn't have the courage to ask the specific question on his mind outright).

'I think we've talked about this before, Thomas.' Jimmy said firmly. 'Things didn't _go wrong_.' He added, a little more gently. 'At least not for me.'

'So…' Thomas moved to perch on the arm of the sofa by Jimmy's side. '…what happened when you said 'no' to people?'

Jimmy frowned. 'Well I…I didn't really say 'no' all that much…' He said slowly.

'What if an ugly bloke came up to you and wanted a bit of…well, wanted a 'bit'?' Said Thomas curiously.

Jimmy stared at him. 'I don't understand…'

'If a bloke that was a bit…disgusting…came up to you wanting some business.' Thomas explained. 'What would you do?'

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. 'Thomas 'disgusting' and 'ugly' aren't exactly the same thing are they?'

'Are they not?' Thomas said with a laugh. He stopped laughing when it became apparent Jimmy wasn't going to join in.

Thomas found himself thinking of the unfortunately plain appearance of the Captain.

_[aka. The former love of his life…]_

'You really don't care about looks do you?' Said Thomas, finding it surprisingly hard to reconcile this particular assertion with the staggeringly beautiful (even with everything it had suffered the past few weeks) face before him.

'Well no need to ask whether or not you do…' Said Jimmy dryly. His eyes met Thomas's. Jimmy gave a small sigh. 'I suppose…to me the feeling's more important than the look of the thing. It doesn't matter if someone looks like they've been hit in the face with a train so long as they've got gentle hands and appreciate what I'm doing.' Jimmy said.

_Spoken as only a beautiful person could…_

Was what Thomas found himself wanting to say. But he held his tongue, because he had a feeling that wasn't 'it'.

So he didn't respond.

'Sorry to not have particularly high standards, but there it is…' Said Jimmy, a tad defensively.

'No. No.' Thomas said quickly, rubbing pensively at his jaw with a hand rubbed raw on soap and fabric. 'I was just thinking…thinking about you and 'that' work. I wonder if part of the reason you gravitated towards that 'particular' type of work, at least at first, is because…' Thomas considered his words carefully. '…you like being…you like being the one to make people happy. And maybe it helped you get over feeling so…disposable. You know, having half of Manchester wanting a piece of you.'

'Yeah…' Jimmy said, laughing, but surprised Thomas by simultaneously bursting into tears. '…that sounds about it. At least until the bitterness set in and I started teasing and berating the fuck out of everybody.' He said, struggling between laughter and tears.

Thomas decided to move the conversation back onto more general grounds.

'You hungry? I could go raid the cupboards?' Thomas said breezily, stepping back into the 'kitchen'. 'I can pay Clarence back for whatever we have…'

Less than an hour later the two of them were sat at the small table and chairs by the front door, picking over the remnants of their lunch.

'I was lucky, you know.' Said Jimmy quietly.

'Sorry?' Said Thomas, mouth full of breadcrumbs, having become quite mesmerised by the view out the window.

'Walking the streets. Not having any trouble.' Said Jimmy. 'I was lucky.'

Thomas didn't say anything. He had a distinct feeling there was more coming. And he welcomed it.

Jimmy took a few slow breaths before continuing. 'A man died there, you know.' Jimmy took another shaky breath. 'Someone…or some people…kicked his head in in the street.' He sniffed. 'I'm not sure they meant to kill him. But he died.' Jimmy was silent for a moment. 'No one told the police. They were worried about bringing attention to the rest of us. So the landlord got one of his friends who drove the coal cart to take the body away…For all I know they just threw it in the river, or in a ditch somewhere.' Thomas stayed quiet, carefully regarding Jimmy who again looked close to tears. 'I don't think that's right.' Jimmy continued sadly. 'No burial…the family, if he had any, never knowing…'

Thomas grimaced internally – short of volunteering to dredge every river in the Greater Manchester region and take cadaver dogs down every street and over every field he couldn't really see a solution to that one.

_But at least he's talking…_

'Well at least you cared.' Said Thomas gently. 'That's worth something.'

Jimmy gave a small nod and turned his attention back to the remnants of his food.

'And…' Thomas continued gently. '…I think it was nice that you cared about Tim too.'

Jimmy nodded again, his face twisting up a little. 'I wish I knew where he was.' He eventually said.

'That's easy. We can go to The Bellows pub and find him. We'll have to get you back to work _first _of course, and be _very _kind to Carson but…'

_Finally something I can fix! Although he was in a rotten state when I…_

'He's not there.' Said Jimmy flatly, halting Thomas mid flow. 'Lord Anstruther said he looked for Tim after the trial.'

_Ah…_

'Damn.' Said Thomas, pursing his lips. 'Any idea where else he may have gone?'

Jimmy shrugged wearily. 'Any big city or large town. Probably not Manchester any more. But apart from that…' Jimmy shook his head sadly. 'Leeds, Liverpool…York if he went a bit further, Birmingham if he went a lot further maybe? That's if he hasn't got arrested or done himself a mischief.'

'I see the problem.' Said Thomas softly, deciding the time was ripe for them to drop the subject.

They managed to steer clear of awkward (read: painful) topics of conversation while the business of tidying up after lunch was completed, and later while they were attending to the task of finally getting dressed into their clean (if unpressed) clothes. Getting dressed seemed a bit of a pointless exercise given it was already late afternoon. But it turned out to be a good move; Jimmy seemed to genuinely _want_ to make himself presentable.

'Now no more rolling around in the dirt.' Thomas quipped. 'I'm not bloody washing them again!'

Jimmy laughed.

Once they were dressed Thomas even caught sight of Jimmy out of the corner of his eye, brushing carefully at his neglected hair with the brush Thomas had retrieved from his dresser, using the corner of the window as a mirror.

'Looking good.' Thomas said, smiling at Jimmy when he turned back to look at him.

'Not quite sure Carson would approve…' Said Jimmy, looking down at the creases in his shirt and trousers. '…but I reckon it'll do for now.'

Thomas paused.

'Reckon…Reckon you could get yourself up enough for Carson to approve?' He said tentatively.

'Oh…' Jimmy said softly, his hands (and the brush) falling to his sides for a moment as he looked down at the floor.

'Sorry to bring it up.' Said Thomas, finding something of a lump developing in his throat. 'But times almost up.' He licked his lips nervously. 'I know…believe me, I know…you're not 'fine'. Things are not 'alright'…' He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, steeling himself to look back at Jimmy. '…But do you think you can hold it together enough to go back to work?' Thomas blushed a little as his voice gave way, the last few words coming out horrendously hoarse.

Jimmy looked pensive rather than distressed; Thomas took that as a good sign.

But Jimmy didn't say anything.

Thomas found himself remembering the concession that Carson had offered; for him to move his bed into Jimmy's room if it would help Jimmy sleep at night. He also realised, slightly surprising himself, that he didn't _want _to offer that particular option to Jimmy. And he certainly didn't want to do it.

First and foremost, he was a man who liked his own space. Needed it, in fact, on some occasions. Memories of nights clutching two thirds of a bottle of red wine, unable to deal with any human creature whatsoever after a trying day, swam into his mind.

But there was something else too. An acknowledgement that a line had to be drawn somewhere in terms of his responsibility. Not so much for Jimmy's wellbeing, but for his own sanity.

_And surely he's got to want to get through this for himself._

_ If he's going to get through this, he has to really._

_[No point in labouring over an empty shell.]_

_[If he's gone he's…]_

'I think I can.' Said Jimmy, looking as surprised at his own words as Thomas. 'If they'll have me back.'

Thomas laughed, sounding something akin to a horse as he released the tension in his chest. 'Oh yes. Mark my words they will. They haven't even let Brett wait a table for dinner yet, he's been so hopeless!'

'Brett…' Said Jimmy softly.

'Yes.' Thomas shifted about a bit, wondering if now was the moment to offer to make tea (or attempt to). 'He'll probably give you hell when you come back. I think he's hoping you won't. In fact, I know he doesn't want you back. Fancies himself a Footman, you see.' Thomas clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to think of a more elegant way to put his next point. In the end he went for his gut instinct. 'But everyone else wants you back.'

'Horse shit.' Came the soft and bitter reply.

'I won't lie Jimmy, a lot of it's got more to do with people feeling bad about the state you've been in rather than them actually liking you.' Thomas stepped in to take Jimmy by the shoulders, startling Jimmy into flinching, although he stayed where he was. 'But they do care. And I reckon if you go back and give them a bit more of the Jimmy that wants to make people smile rather than the Jimmy who feels he has to be better than everyone in public because he hates himself in private…' Thomas didn't finish the sentence. The look in Jimmy's eyes showed the message had been understood.

In fact the look in Jimmy's eyes said a lot more.

'After everything…' Said Jimmy softly. '…you still think the best of me?'

'I do.' Thomas replied, feeling that lump return to his throat. He gave Jimmy's shoulders a quick pat and then retreated back to a safe distance. 'It's nice to be right about this sort of thing for a change.' He said brightly. 'Now…tea?'

They didn't speak between those words and the moment when they both settled down at opposite ends of the sofa, tea cups in hand. But both of them knew what needed discussion.

'I missed you.' Thomas said quietly, watching Jimmy's face carefully, his fingers playing with the handle on his cup. 'I mean…I know you've been around these past few months, but it hasn't really been 'you'…and I missed you.'

'I missed you too.' Jimmy said, his voice even quieter than Thomas's. 'I'm sorry I couldn't keep myself together for you.' Though such a thing seemed impossible, his voice grew quieter still; but not too soft for Thomas to comprehend. 'I'm sorry I didn't put up a fight when you told me you wanted to end things with me. I should have done.'

'Don't be sorry.' Said Thomas, resting his injured knuckles against the heat of the tea cup to relieve the painful ache of the bruised and broken bones. 'I still think that was the right thing to do then. For both of us.' He looked down into his tea. 'There was no time for it really, was there?'

'No.' Jimmy agreed. 'And I didn't really have much space in my head free for it.' He added apologetically.

'Have you got space in your head now?' Said Thomas.

The two of them looked up, and at each other, at precisely the same moment.

'I do.' Said Jimmy.

Thomas had never been more thankful for a direct response in his life.

'Well then I'd say that's that.' Said Thomas, speaking a lot more breezily than strictly appropriate given the intensity of the atmosphere that had descended between them, trying to lighten the mood.

'But…' Jimmy said, taking a moment to shake his head in frustration as his voice briefly failed him. '…I don't think that would be fair on you.'

'How so?' Said Thomas, his tea now quite forgotten (and in danger of toppling out of his hand and onto the upholstery).

Jimmy took a long time in answering. His lower lip ran through his teeth no fewer than three times before he had formulate a response. His cheeks flushed red as he finally began to speak.

'You were right in that I was treating myself badly, because I felt dirty. I felt I was dirty, but that I deserved to be dirty so I kept doing things to make me…dirty.' Jimmy wrinkled his nose, evidently displeased with his brain for being unable to provide a more eloquently worded speech.

From his spot at the other end of the sofa, Thomas nodded.

'Well…' Jimmy continued. '…right now, in my head, I do feel…better…about me. But I don't feel better about _that_.'

Thomas frowned in confusion.

'It's just…' Jimmy ran his lower lip through his teeth again. '…it's not nice is it? And it's pointless…' He noticed Thomas's quizzical expression.

'The sex.' Jimmy explained.

'Oh…' Thomas whispered.

'So one person dominates the other…' Said Jimmy, rolling his eyes. '…or you both slide around together on equal terms. Teasing away.' He said with a shrug. 'And being all naked, and open and…dirty. Why do it?'

'What do you mean 'why'?' Thomas exclaimed, sounding a little more indignant than he had meant to.

'After everything that's happened…' Jimmy said earnestly. '...I just don't see how it could be a good thing, that's all. And I don't…feel like it…at all.'

'Jimmy it's about being close to someone you love.' Thomas said, unwilling to press the issue for multiple reasons, but feeling the need to assert that particular point. 'I thought we'd finally managed to get on the same page about that.'

'I know.' Said Jimmy softly. 'But it can't really work that way for me. I tried, but it can't. It's always been a tool. A means to an end. There's no magic in it.' He closed his eyes. 'And I would understand if you want to retract your earlier sentiment…about us being together again…because of what I've just said.'

The mire of thoughts, some welcome, others not, that Jimmy's words conjured in Thomas's mind eventually condensed down into the simple response.

'One step at a time, yeah?'

That night Thomas slept on the bed while Jimmy took the sofa.

Both slept through comfortably until morning.


	85. Our Interest - Chapter 85

**Our Interest – Chapter 85**

'James, you're needed at the front door…' Carson gasped as the two of them swept past each other at high speed in the hallway, Carson bound for the reception room, Jimmy for the front door. '…the Greenwood's car has just pulled up and…'

'Right away Mr Carson.' Jimmy replied smartly, cutting off Carson's agitated speech (that, despite the time element, was in danger of becoming a painful rambling affair) and earning himself a grateful, if brief, look of thanks from the harried Butler.

Jimmy hopped over the large roll of carpet at the side of the hallway. 'You…' He ordered Brett, who was knelt beside it with the other Hall Boys. '…help me with the Greenwood's bags. They're going to the third floor guest corridor.'

Brett instantly stood and scuttled for the front door. The rumble of the car coming to a final standstill outside filled the hall as he opened it, adding another layer of noise to the bustling and chaotic scene indoors.

'Is Alfred finished with Mr Crawley yet?' Carson suddenly called, spinning about on his heel before reaching the door at the far end of the hall.

'Well…' Jimmy turned about to answer but Matthew, who came into view stepping quickly down the staircase at the side of the hall, got there first.

'Quite finished, thank you Mr Carson.' Said Matthew, looking almost as haunted and pale as Carson, his eyes also darting about as though he may have inadvertently forgotten something. 'But he's gone to see if Tom needs anything, then he'll be right down.'

'James, make sure Alfred comes right down once you have the Greenwoods settled!' Carson called down the hallway as Matthew vanished into the library (no doubt to attack the strategically placed liquor decanter). Carson promptly vanished from the hallway himself, leaving Jimmy stuck half in and half out of the door, trying to process the extra order, perilously close to missing the magic moment whereby one must open the car door for the guests.

He managed it, and seconds later himself and Brett were stumbling up the stairs with suitcases while Robert, who had appeared from the library (having already attacked the liquor decanter) greeted the seventh guests to arrive as though he did not have a thousand other concerns on his mind on that particular morning, and cordially invited them to follow the route Carson had taken to meet the other guests taking tea in the reception room.

Robert narrowly avoided tripping over the rolled carpet as he attempted to surreptitiously watch the size of the package the Greenwood's left on the table to the side of the hall that was already heaving with presents. Cursing under his breath (unknowingly drawing a smile from Lee, who remained kneeling by the rolled carpet waiting for 'His Lordship' to decided which side of the hall he wanted to stand so he and the others could get on with moving it) Robert took a moment to collect himself.

Any inner peace achieved rapidly dissipated upon glancing at the clock on the side-table.

'Thomas!' He called as the man in question appeared from downstairs with a tray heavily laden with tea cups.

'Yes, My Lord.' Said Thomas easily, suppressing the urge to correct Robert on his manner of address (the poor man looked as though comprehending the difference between 'Thomas' and 'Mr Barrow' was quite beyond him at that point anyway) and trying to keep his internal panic that the entire tray may slip from his grasp and wind up on the floor from showing on his face; his knuckles may have healed but he was wearing new gloves and they had far too much slip in them for comfort.

_KNEW I should have tested out the darn things before… _

'Where the devil are the women?' Robert said eventually, struggling for breath as though having run a marathon, a tiny shake of his head accompanying the words to show that he was aware it was an inappropriate sentence, but that at that moment, it was the most efficient means of communicating the sentiment of the question.

'Miss O'Brien finished with Her Ladyship an hour ago, but we haven't seen Anna…' Thomas's feet twitched as he fought the urge to continue making for the reception room to safely deposit the heavy tray. '…since she went up to Lady Mary this morning…' Thomas actually did take a few steps away, finding Robert following him as he did so, listening with rapt and hopeful attentiveness. '…and as Your Lordship knows, she was then to attend Lady Edith to get her ready for…'

'Yes, yes.' Said Robert impatiently. 'But are they _ready_?'

Thomas's face was sufficiently caught off guard to form a sheepish grimace as he attempted to keep edging towards the reception room. 'I…' He began desperately, wondering if there was _any_ politic response he could give with regards to the amount of time Edith was clearly needing to prepare for the day.

But the heavens decided to be merciful.

'Anna!' Thomas announced, with a sense of Titanic relief, as she swung into view on the staircase.

Robert was across the hallway in a flash, scattering Hall Boys who rushed to get out of his path as he went, to quiz Anna on the progress of the beautification process.

With a low whistle of relief, Thomas continued on his way to the reception room, he just about caught Robert's indignant response to Anna's update (something to do with precisely _how_ long Cora was intending to take over the traditional mother/daughter pep talk) before the door swung closed behind him and he was faced with a dozen strangers in need of tea and a quietly hyperventilating Mr Carson.

Thomas had managed to pour barely two cups of tea before Robert appeared to announce that it was time for them to get going (leaving Thomas to wonder precisely how much of a fib Anna had given him when asked for a time estimate).

The cars were out front, but there was the small matter of uniting all the guests (disgruntled at the lack of time to drink their teas) with their various coats and hats before they could be turned outside to clamber back into the waiting cars.

Mercifully, Jimmy and Alfred chose precisely that moment to come bounding down the stairs (en route to the kitchen) and could therefore be called upon to assist in leading the guests to the waiting cars.

'Now Downstairs at once!' Said Carson, shooing the three of them indoors with overly exaggerated hand gestures. 'Downstairs at…'

'Yes, Mr…' They went to respond.

The four men turned and hushed instantly as a shiver of white fabric appeared through the gaps between the banisters on the first floor.

A few soft footsteps behind them and Robert joined the group, closely followed by Matthew who had deemed the departure of the guests as the correct moment to emerge from hiding.

They watched, transfixed to the point of inappropriate staring, but too distracted to care, as Edith came into view, decked in the finest example of understated glamour, modernity and beauty that Thomas had ever seen.

The dress was beautiful, a fine cut for Edith's slender figure and unusual in it's shorter sleeves and low waist; with the waist, hems and other small details picked out in deceptively intricate beading on a canvass of shining silk. It was lighter than her previous dress, both in colour and volume of fabric, Thomas couldn't help but note, and had no trailing fabric or veil to speak of, but this one was somehow perfectly 'Edith'.

Both Thomas and Robert found themselves considering the contrast between the girl who had originally had such high hopes in cream satin of romantic ideals and propriety of rank, and the woman before them, eagerly meeting the challenge of a more uncertain destiny in gleaming white.

_Oh…_

And she was beautiful.

The bride was beautiful.

On one side of her carefully curled hair shone a small cluster of pearls fixed in a gold setting, a gift, all those present knew, from Gregson, a symbolic as much as literal replacement for the tiara.

Heirloom the tiara may have been, it had no place on that day.

Thomas knew someone who had anticipated their wedding day for as long as Edith couldn't fail to glow with happiness once the moment was upon them, but Edith's happiness was far more heart-warming, engaging and joyous to see than Thomas had anticipated. And he found himself quite swept up in the moment.

'Perfect.' He said softly, but unfortunately loudly enough for most of those present to hear.

'Right…' Mr Carson humphed, giving a smile and respectful nod to Lady Edith and the rest of those present. 'Downstairs immediately.' He ordered the rapt observers amongst the staff (after glancing over to check that the drivers of the Bridal Party cars had drawn the cars into view out the front door, and had, as requested, brought their own Footmen to assist the family into them).

Thomas lingered long enough to note that it was nice to see Mary walking quite so closely behind Edith, true she was walking beside Tom, while Cora and Edith led the way, but her body language spoke of a protectiveness and affection that Thomas had genuinely never seen her display towards her sister before.

'Now, Mr Barrow!' Carson hissed, attempting to subtly call Thomas away but quite unable to avoid the family overhearing.

Thomas gave a quick bow and apologetic smile to the family, and an extra smile for Edith, before hurrying away after the others.

The four of them clattered down the stairs, Carson quickly taking the lead despite Jimmy and Alfred's youth, in his need to check with Mrs Patmore (for approximately the fourteenth time) that all was set for the wedding feast.

'Jimmy!' Thomas whispered, catching hold of Jimmy's sleeve to halt him while Alfred ran on ahead.

'Yes…' Said Jimmy, bowing his head a little in an attempt to shield his red-face and watery eyes from Thomas, despite being well aware that was the reason Thomas had chosen to collar him.

'Are you alright?' Thomas whispered quickly. 'You know you don't have to go, don't you? I can find some excuse for you to stay at the house while we go to the wedding…'

'Don't be daft!' Jimmy exclaimed, breaking out into a laugh. 'I'm just…' He lowered his head again bashfully. '…happy for her, that's all.'

'Oh…' Said Thomas. '…good.'

'Mmmm…But I tell you one thing…' Jimmy muttered, indicating Thomas to bring his face closer as though to tell him a spectacular secret. '…if Mr Gregson bottles it after all this, he'll have me to deal with!'

Thomas laughed. 'And I.' He agreed wryly as the two of them resumed their sprint down the stairs.

A short time later, after some highly harried members of staff making last minute changes to their clothes in Carson's office (which now resembled the back of a market stall in Portobello Road after Carson's bright idea to decrease the amount of time it would take the staff to get to the church if they didn't have to go all the way up to the attic to change), the staff were on their way to the church also.

At the church Thomas shuffled in next to Alfred by the aisle to ensure a good view of the proceedings, with Anna and Bates to his left. He was pleasantly surprised when Jimmy, who had been travelling in the other car, politely asked if the Bates's would mind moving a little further down the bench so that he could sit next to Thomas (and even more pleasantly surprised when they graciously did so).

'Not very subtle.' Thomas whispered to Jimmy as he sat down.

Jimmy chuckled. 'I get a better view in this seat.'

His hands indicated the aisle, while his eyes remained fixed on Thomas.

'Wish I could take that as a compliment.' Thomas whispered back sarcastically for the benefit of those around them, while silently thanking Jimmy with his eyes.

Thomas found himself suddenly feeling a little to hot for comfort, his eyes remaining on Jimmy's as the latter turned to peer at the hats of various members of the upper class in the front rows of the church (not to mention the fidgeting figure of Gregson).

Thomas gave a tiny frustrated shake of his head.

And then the music came.

The occupants of the church instantly swivelled in their seats as the bridal party entered the church. They watched with baited breath, the curious and well-wishers alike, as the violinists joined in with the pianist to herald the imminent arrival of the bride.

Edith entered the church with her head high, the tiny hint of fear on her face vanishing the moment she recognised Gregson at the altar, and walked the aisle with Robert (and the rest of the congregation) quite unable to take their proud eyes off her.

The ceremony began, and absolutely nothing went wrong.

The lack of 'trouble' was at the forefront of the minds of both family and staff, how could it not be given what had gone before?

There was a deliciously palpable sense of joyous relief, not malicious, simply there, as the ceremony rapidly progressed up to the point of no return without anything to muddle the growing happiness of the bride and groom as the final moment of joining approached.

Edith cried upon accepting the ring.

Thomas thought he might also. And he did worry that his reputation Downstairs would never have survived it.

But he was saved by the timely intervention of Jimmy's fingertips secretly sneaking across the back of his hand to sooth him.

Unlike any fleeting moments of contact in the previous weeks, Thomas didn't find himself questioning or over analysing it; which was somewhat liberating and bolstering in itself.

The church fell so silent at the final stage of the vows that the sound of horses neighing in a field beyond the village could be heard on the wind, and the resulting applause upon their successful completion could most likely be heard in the next town.

'Come on…' Said Thomas to Jimmy, as the staff and other guests all bustled to leave their seats to head back to Downton.

He withdrew his hand from Jimmy's touch, feeling a little sour about it now that the euphoria of Edith's moment had gone; having waited, largely in vain, for any concrete declaration of intent on Jimmy's part, now that he had deemed Jimmy to have had adequate time to consider the matter outside of the heat of the moment (or the bonfire). It was frustrating that the one issue Thomas knew he absolutely could not push, was the one issue that remained outstanding; despite all the _other_ issues they repeatedly spoke on evening after evening in the cause of building Jimmy back up from the trauma of how he, and others, had treated him over the years prior to Downton. It wasn't that he wanted to know 'when', he just wanted to know 'if' an official (at least between themselves) acknowledgement of their renewed relationship was a likely occurrence. He found it easier if he didn't dwell too much on what terms such a relationship might be conducted, but the fact that he _needed_ their relationship to resume in some fashion was an unquestionable truth.

'Jimmy!' Thomas whispered when Jimmy remained in his seat, staring at the ceiling. Thomas was conscious that Alfred had already left his seat and that the Bates's had given up and started heading in the other direction to get out of the pew. 'What are you doing?'

Jimmy continued to stare at the ceiling a moment longer before blinking and looking towards Thomas. 'I was just saying thank you to the man upstairs.' He explained, pointedly not taking his eyes off Thomas. 'It seems like the right thing to do, given how much I have to be thankful for…' His eyes stayed on Thomas as he got up out of his seat to ensure that Thomas was in no doubt as to precisely what Jimmy felt he had to be thankful for.

Thomas felt a powerful tugging at his lungs that momentarily impeded his ability to breathe.

But it wasn't enough.

'Jimmy!' Thomas repeated sharply as Jimmy went to make his way out to the aisle, insisting upon his attention.

Jimmy turned back.

Thomas glanced at the bustling chaos around him before silently mouthing the simple question. 'Are you mine?'

'I'm yours.' Jimmy's lips responded immediately, as though shocked the question even merited asking, instantly releasing the tension in Thomas's lungs; the look in his eyes releasing the tension in Thomas's heart.

_[But, of course, that does still leave the small matter of…]_

_For God's sake, just let me HAVE this moment! Please._

'Enough dawdling!' Mr Carson's stern voice sounded from the church doorway.

Thomas was relieved to note that there were several other members of staff taking their time to make their way to the exit, so he and Jimmy didn't stand out for better or worse upon emerging from the church with the rest of the stragglers. Although they did both look a little dazed as they stepped out into the sunlight, happy, but dazed, amidst all the other smiling faces.


	86. Our Interest Chapter 86

**Our Interest – Chapter 86**

With the departure of Edith and Gregson to the north of Italy for, as the new bride anticipated, 'three weeks of blissful abandon with a hearty measure of cultural curiosity' the atmosphere at Downton became somewhat sombre and gloomy. With the last of the 'children' gone the family were regularly reminded of the absence of both Edith and Sybil (and that the absence of _both _would now be enduring). Dinners in the evening were rendered mournful by the painfully conspicuous absence of one so often overlooked.

The overarching mood of an era having come to an end also threw into harsh relief what Mary and Matthew had not yet achieved. The time Lady Mary spent doting on Sybbie was increasingly seeming like compensation rather than preparation in terms of their hopes of a child of their own. But of course, no one, least of all the staff (save perhaps Anna) knew the full measure of the situation as regards to the hopes for a new Crawley heir.

As ever, the routines and rituals of the family and household remained a constant and a comfort.

So it was not in the least bit remarkable that Thomas should find himself serving afternoon tea in the upstairs sitting room at precisely 4pm on a Thursday.

What was slightly disconcerting was Matthew's repeated attempts to speak with him, clearly trying to get him alone; which were consistently thwarted by relatives approaching the table Thomas was minding in search of additional sandwiches and cakes.

Eventually Matthew's impatience got the better of him. With a jerk of his head and a gentlemanly gesture with his hand that Thomas should go first, Matthew motioned for Thomas to follow him out into the corridor.

Thomas hesitated, mindful that the task of keeping the family in cups of tea was his alone at that particular moment (Carson having stolen both the Footmen in the cause of finally clearing out the downstairs storage closets), but he reasoned that the rest of the family couldn't really question his absence if so ordered by the future Earl of Grantham.

'Apologies for stealing you away, Mr Barrow. I shall try to be brief!' Matthew said.

Thomas gave a small nod of his head in acknowledgement, trying not to be too alarmed by the way Matthew was shifting about awkwardly on his feet.

'It's just…' Matthew said, sweeping his gaze about to ensure they were alone, finding they were, but leaning in to whisper all the same. '…I have news of Mr Carter.'

'Oh…' Said Thomas, feeling the temperature around him in the corridor suddenly freezing despite the blazing and low sunshine of the late afternoon that had somewhat cooked the entire house.

'He went to live with some family in York, but naturally I still had to have dealings with him on my client's behalf because there was a large amount of money still owing to the estate…' Matthew whispered quickly. But not quick enough for Thomas who mentally visualised rotating his hand about his wrist to urge Matthew to get to the point. '…but anyway, as it would turn out he got himself involved in some bad business of a loan…or scam…or…' Matthew tripped over his words in his haste to get the story out as several maids appeared down the far end of the corridor.

Much to Thomas's consternation, Matthew elected to fall silent and wait for the two maids to pass them.

'On your way now.' Thomas found himself urging them, his voice a little more high pitched than usual, when it became apparent they were too hesitant to pass Matthew while he was still in the corridor (the afternoon tea time usually being the moment when the maids could guarantee a free run of the rooms of the house to put things in order before the evening). 'So, bad business?' Thomas prompted quickly the moment the maids were out of sight.

'Yes. And, well, the upshot of it is…' Said Matthew excitably. '…there was a fight over money with a man, perhaps a business partner, or relative, or associate…'

'Alright, there was a fight!' Thomas interjected sharply, marvelling at his own daring, but Matthew seemed unperturbed.

'The upshot is…' Matthew repeated. '…he's gone and got himself arrested.'

Thomas's jaw opened itself wide in a most ungainly manor as he processed Matthew's announcement.

'My sources tell me he might be in the prison there for quite some time!' Matthew added triumphantly, forgetting his earlier nervousness and compulsion to whisper in his eagerness to share the news.

'Well that's…' Thomas shook his head in astonishment. '…rather good, isn't it?' He said lamely, unable to come up with a better response.

'Indeed.' Matthew agreed with a raise of his eyebrow. 'So anyway, the reason I wanted to talk to you was to see if you thought I ought to tell James the news first? Do you think that would be well received?'

Thomas stared at him, blinking rapidly. 'Um…doesn't you telling me the news before asking that slightly negate the question…' He said slowly, trying his hardest to not sound patronising. But failing.

When it came to matters of all things 'Jimmy' Thomas found he had a very short fuse.

Not that that hadn't always been the case, but lately it was fed by untenable levels of frustration and doubt; which persisted even in the face of Jimmy's increasingly relaxed and pleasant moods, and constant verbal reassurances of his regard.

'I just meant do you think I can tell him myself, or do you think him too…' Matthew skirted the word 'fragile', but both men heard it in their heads. '…private to hear the news from anyone other than yourself?'

'Oh…' Said Thomas, wondering if he ought to apologise for his ill-humour in the face of Matthew's concern. 'No. No I'm sure he would be more than happy to hear the news from you Mr Crawley.'

'Marvellous.' Said Matthew with a smile, indicating for Thomas to lead the way back into the sitting room.

Late that evening, Thomas recognised the swift footsteps outside his door in time to put down the trousers he was working on hemming and look wryly at the door as an excited Jimmy burst in.

'Thomas…' He said, quite breathless from no doubt sprinting up multiple flights of stairs. '…Carter's in prison!' He exclaimed, bounding into the room, seeming to barely touch the floor as he swept over to the bed to sit down heavily, leaving the door open behind him.

'Mmmm…' Said Thomas, with an evil grin. 'I know. Mr Crawley told me.'

'Oh you sod!' Jimmy said, cocking his head to one side and pulling a face that was a strange mix between reproachful headteacher and delighted schoolboy. 'You could have bloody told me!' He said, grinning back at Thomas, swinging his legs out happily in front of him.

Thomas shrugged. 'But Mr Crawley seemed so eager to tell you himself…' He said with a chuckle.

'If I wasn't so happy right now I'd throw a pillow at you!' Jimmy asserted, his face holding on to an expression of sternness for all of two seconds before creasing up again in glee.

'Pillow…?' Thomas mocked. 'Scissors!' He countered, holding up the shiny (and quite deadly looking) pair on the desk in front of him.

'I think I would win that particular exchange of missiles don't you think?' Thomas drawled.

'Ack! I surrender!' Jimmy cried, leaning back on the bed in mock terror, waving the white gloves he held bunched up in his hand from the dinner service as a makeshift white flag.

A creak in the corridor outside had Thomas quickly putting down the scissors and Jimmy quickly sitting back upright (with both feet on the floor).

Alfred's lean form appeared briefly in the doorway.

'Goodnight.' He said, peeking in the doorway to enable him to nod to both Jimmy and Thomas.

'Night Alfred.' Said Jimmy softly.

Thomas smiled and nodded back to Alfred as he withdrew from the room _en route_ to his bed.

'Have you…had a chance to explain things to him yet?' Said Thomas quietly to Jimmy. 'About why his nose now bends in an extra place than what it should…?'

Jimmy inhaled deeply.

'A little.' He said, eyes glazing over a tad at the recollection of the conversation. 'Not all of it, and certainly no details…' Jimmy gave a nervous laugh. 'But, yes, Alfred knows why I…hurt him.' He said grimly. 'Not that that's any excuse.' He added in a small voice. 'Although of course Alfred doesn't see it that way…he's had me wrapped in cotton wool ever since.'

Thomas gave an involuntary snort. 'I had noticed, I must confess. But it's been nice to see you spending more time with him during the day.' Thomas said, suddenly serious. 'It's good to see you making friends. Real ones.'

'Alright dad.' Jimmy said with a roll of his eyes, smiling at Thomas, inviting him to share in the joke.

'I _beg_ your pardon.' Said Thomas levelly, his expression rendered ominous and cold.

'Sorry.' Jimmy sat up even straighter, meeting Thomas's gaze with wide and alarmed eyes. 'I didn't mean…that you're old or…anything. And I don't mean nothing dodgy by it. It's just sounds like something a parent would say, that's all. I didn't mean to offend you…' Jimmy babbled, pleading with his eyes for Thomas to jump in and reprieve him. 'And I suppose it's not something my dad would say anyway…he always had his eyes on business. They weren't so much friends as clients, really. My dad practically had me filling out a little black book while I was in the school playground in preparation for all the contacts I might need in my future…'

'I'd forgot you were originally destined for greater things.' Thomas said softly, not maliciously, just speaking; his mind was most decidedly elsewhere.

Jimmy was hit with the realisation that their roles had somehow reversed. For the past weeks they had settled into something of a routine which each night involved gentle prompting from Thomas that gradually lowered or distracted Jimmy's defences to the point where Thomas could seize upon an opening to delve deeper and deeper into his past, and more often than not recognising the continued impact of events that Jimmy had quite consciously disregarded as trivial at the time and not had occasion to think about (let alone share) since.

But here he found himself alert, aware, while Thomas looked open…or at least far more distracted than he had seen him in a while.

'What did your dad have to say about making friends?' Jimmy heard himself say. Just a casual comment. Naturally.

'He said…' Thomas said, a strange half-smile on his face that squeezed his cheeks painfully close to his eyes. '…that when it comes to other people "if they don't like you, fuck 'em".' Thomas said, giving a tiny laugh. 'Never said that in front of my mother of course…'

'No. I should think not.' Jimmy agreed, pleasantly surprised by the answer. 'That sounds a fairly healthy approach to me!'

'Mmmm.' Thomas grimaced, briefly screwing his eyes shut entirely. 'He was a very uncompromising man.' He swallowed. 'Which wasn't always good.'

Thomas picked at the stitching he had just completed with the needle he still held in his hand.

'He thought people should help themselves.' Thomas added, his voice sounding very distant and dim.

'Such as…?' Jimmy croaked out, finding his throat unwilling to cooperate in his surprise at seeing Thomas (who had been unflinchingly sturdy and steadfast of late) looking and sounding quite so far away.

'Like…' Thomas paused for a moment. '…like I came home one day crying, I can't even remember what about now, and he said I couldn't be in the room with the family until I stopped. He ended up shutting me up in the pantry for hours that night…' Thomas shook his head sadly. '…because I couldn't stop.' Thomas sighed deeply before adding. 'I don't think I wanted to be on my own, you see.'

'Oh…So, you and your dad didn't really get on?' Jimmy prompted gently, intrigued to have his suspicions on that account confirmed.

'That's not it.' Thomas said flatly. 'We worked well enough together when he was teaching me how to work with the clocks and such.'

'Right…' Jimmy said, watching Thomas's face carefully, waiting for more, as he knew there must be.

'But he never looked after me.' Said Thomas, his voice utterly lacking in inflection. 'I could never ask for his help, because he always told me to help myself. And that's good, it is.' Said Thomas, his voice beginning to rise in agitation. 'But…it would have been nice to have someone look after me.' Jimmy winced as Thomas's voice cracked painfully. 'And I don't like to be called the dad, even though I suppose I am now, in a way…' Thomas continued, having to struggle for each word. '…seems so unfair…' He had to stop entirely for a moment, but Jimmy was too transfixed to intervene. '…because when did _I_ get to be the child?'

Thomas crumpled forwards to rest his head in his arms on the desk.

Jimmy sat watching him, his breaths as unsteady as though he were crying.

But he didn't cry at first.

He didn't cry as he slowly crossed the room to clasp at Thomas's shoulders and rest his head and chest against Thomas's back, ignoring the open door.

Jimmy cried when he felt Thomas shoulders shaking unhappily against him.

And the worst part was that Jimmy couldn't even say how sorry he was to Thomas, because _that_ would have made the moment about him, and that really REALLY wasn't appropriate.

'Sorry.' Thomas said quietly when he eventually raised his head, cheeks blotchy and eyes red.

'For goodness sake, what have _you_ got to apologise for?' Jimmy responded, a tad harsher than he would have liked.

'Nothing, I just…' Thomas scratched at the back of his ear with one hand and began to fiddle with the sewing on the table with the other. 'Oh, ignore me.'

'Best be heading off to bed.' Thomas continued, summoning a pleasant and easy smile from somewhere deep inside his personal reserves. There was a distinct air of finality to the sentence. Conversation over.

'Thomas I…' Jimmy began. He found the words in his head, but didn't like them. So he began to walk towards the door, feeling dazed and hot as he went. But he couldn't leave without saying them. 'Thomas I don't know if I will ever be able to look after you the way you…(_Want? Need?_)…deserve.' He said softly, looking awkwardly, and apologetically at the floor. 'Goodnight Thomas.' He added as he left the room, feeling strangely hollow.

'Same time again tomorrow night?' Thomas called after him.

'Oh!' Jimmy spun about on his heel. 'Absolutely. Brilliant.' He said in relief, beaming at Thomas before heading back to his room.

Thomas smiled to himself, but it was a bitter smile.

Encounters with Jimmy often left a sour taste those days.

Although, Thomas mused, drawing out a handkerchief from his inner pocket that still smelt faintly of dried peaches, he wasn't _entirely _lacking in reasons to hope.


End file.
